


Don't Give Up On Me

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Age-gap Relationship, Angst, Arson, Bullying, Burglary, Death, F/M, Family, Fear, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friendship, Homophobia, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Imaginary Friend, Independence, London, Loneliness, Love, Multi, Nightmares, Past regret, Penance - Freeform, Physical Threat, Racism, Romance, Secrets, Sexual References, Soulmates, Strong Language, Suicide, Trust, Violence, being misunderstood, bigotory, children's home, drug references, elective mutism, kidnap, love of stories, meningitis, post-series 1 AU, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-29 01:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 104,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13916622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: Nicola Smythe is really just trying to have a life if her selective mutism will allow for it. Her German Shepherd dog Dash helps to make things easier, but life is still difficult for her.After everything that goes on with Eurus in his childhood Mycroft Holmes is wary of taking an eye off his brother and getting close to anyone just in case they find out about his past.Christopher Lucas really just needs someone to give him a chance and believe in him.When they find each other will they be able to grow closer or will their respective histories only make it all the more easier for them to give up on one another?





	1. Chameleons, Fires and a Children's Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> I've been working on this for over a year on and off, so I hope you enjoy it. :) The chapters will mostly be short, but this is a longer one to get us going. 
> 
> I'd love to know what you think as we go along. Thank you for your support. :)

**Nicola-1995-2010**

 

“Books,” Nicola Smythe’s father Harry tells her, “Are magic portals into different lands. They must be respected at all costs.” This is news to four-year-old Nicola who had only started school that day and is already finding things to be most difficult. She couldn't answer the register for a start because her voice wouldn't work and all the other children wanted to run and play, which Nicola doesn’t mind doing, but already everyone seems to be much bigger and faster than she is. Too fast to keep up. In the present she hangs off her clever daddy’s words, her ginger hair gleaming vividly beneath the lamplight. She’s in her attic room, tucked up in bed, half-upright against the pillows, whilst the middle-aged Harry sits on the floor beside her. Harry smiles in a way that is not condescending. His long face looks worn and tired beneath his red-rimmed glasses. His graying chestnut hair flops forwards as he momentarily removes his glasses and wipes them upon Nicola’s red and white stripy bedspread, before he replaces them again. “They must never be ripped or thrown about into a muddy puddle”-Nicola giggles, whilst Harry’s smile just grows all the more crooked-“But if treated well then they themselves can become like friends to you.”

 

“Will you read me a story now please Daddy?” Nicola, already enchanted, asks. She loves her daddy’s stories and thinks that she’ll love them even more after hearing what she just has. 

 

“All right,” Harry says softly, rising from the floor with a crack of his knees. He turns around and goes across to the small wooden bookshelf that’s just past Nicola’s small round table and chairs. At the bottom of the room there’s a play tent in the form of a pink castle. Nicola doesn’t dress up as a princess in pink though and pretend to take tea inside it. Much more often than not Harry finds _himself_ having to play that role, whilst Nicola pretends to be the one who’s rescuing _him._ In the bookshelf there are only a couple of picture books and they have slid down messily, but Nicola would like there to be more now. She leans forwards, feels and handles the thin, floppy and cold book that Harry brings back to her, before she pushes it towards him again. He settles on the floor with a bit of a thump, the wooden panelling hard where the chocolate rug doesn’t cover it. “Once upon a time there was an explorer,” Harry begins as Nicola settles back on her mound of pillows. “Her name was”-

 

*

 

“Her name was Nicola Smythe and she was the bravest explorer of them all!” Nicola darts forwards by the big garden of the even larger house on the outskirts of London. The house has three floors and a lot of things inside it are old-fashioned and delicate. Nicola’s not allowed to touch many of them-the guard on the fireplace, the green books that stand all in a row in her father’s study, their words hidden behind glass and she’s not tall enough to reach the chandeliers or she probably wouldn't be able to touch those too. The garden’s a similar place of forbidden delights-she mustn't ruin her mother’s flowers or get in the way of the gardener that comes in twice a week to deal with all the vegetables and she must try her best to keep off the grass where she can-but she can at least be a little freer with the sun on her face and the golden corn gravel stones to play on around the circular fountain. She jabs with her clenched hand now, as if she might be carrying a sword. She’s seven and already well engrossed in all manner of adventure books. She’s even managed to have a couple of real life ones with her daddy. Just over a year ago he’d taken her to watch Polo. He’d used to play the sport as a young man and as Nicola had felt the tremble of horses hooves she’d been astonished and thought it all terribly dangerous. She’d tucked herself into her daddy’s side, whilst his strong, hairy arms had wrapped around her. Every night she dreams about doors that appear all over the house-but mainly in her room and in her garden-that let her escape into worlds where she can be the hero. Successful in her game once more she giggles and withdraws her sword, her blue-amber eyes gleaming in the light, which bounces off her short hair, as she spots something that only she can see. “Kammy come,” she calls. Kammy is a chameleon and Nicola’s imaginary friend. She’s real enough to her though and the best part is that because she’s invisible no one can ever tell her not to touch or take Kammy away from her. The little lizard jumps across to her, before it crawls up her extended arm. Nicola giggles. 

 

From his point at one of the windows on the second floor Harry watches her and smiles. It is a more worried one this time though and it only gets worse when he smells a jasmine scent, feels a hand upon his shoulder and looks to see his wife stood there. 

 

Judy holds a blue basket that’s full of laundry, her graying curly brown hair framing her aristocratic face, her front teeth just protruding, as she too looks out at their daughter. “Seven.” She shakes her head. “And still stuck in a land of make believe.”

 

Harry frowns. “I played games all the time when I was her age. Cops and Robbers. Cowboys and”-

 

 _“Yes,_ well, that’s quite enough of that,” Judy says abruptly, having heard enough tales of her husband’s ruffian-like childhood already in her life. Her expression does change to become a softer one though. “At least you’ve grown up to have a proper job.” She squeezes at his arm fondly, before she lets go of it again. “God knows what’s going to happen to her. She needs to apply herself.” She goes away. 

 

“She’s only _seven.”_ Harry stares after her in exasperation, before he looks back at where Nicola is now running around the fountain, shrieking as she plays her games and splashes her invisible friend Kammy. Harry sighs. He doesn’t understand. He _really_ doesn’t. It’s too early for him to dismiss their daughter like Judy seems to have done. Too early to say that even if she won’t grow up to have a banking job like him, _which,_ Harry suspects that she won’t do, she won’t become anything successful. There are worrying signs though. Nicola hadn’t cried when she’d been born in 1991 and when they’d first taken her to nursery-‘You’ll have to come too dear. She’s taken to you,’ Judy had told him authoritatively-he’d returned on his own to pick Nicola up at lunchtime only to have her hug him tightly and be told that she’d kept herself to herself all morning and hadn’t settled at all. Aside from having water to drink she’d refused to touch anything, let alone play with the other children. He’d thought that it was just a matter of her getting used to the place. Tried to reassure himself that this would probably just be the way it would be for a few days, before everything would become fine again. But every day was the same at nursery. Nicola being quiet and curious about the other children, but keeping her distance, playing alone, not speaking to anyone. At home though she was loud and talkative, especially with him. When she’d started primary school, which Harry had, had high hopes for-could it be that his daughter was just bored of all the repetitive activities that they did at nursery? Had she just inherited the snobbish quality which Judy possessed and was biding her time for something more worthwhile?-the same had been true. Nicola would not volunteer the answers in class and nobody had heard her so much as even make a sound. Judy and he had taken her to the doctor, but nothing had been discovered, so Harry had taken to wondering if _he_ was the one to blame. Was it his fault for introducing her to all those adventure books? Were her beliefs about what life should be like now so fantastical that she’d decided to opt out of reality? Seen that it was so disappointing that it wasn’t even worth partaking in? A shout from his daughter brings Harry out of his thought. 

 

*

 

They call her ‘Nicola Silent’ at school. She supposes that it is a more appropriate name than whatever her surname means. Sometimes ‘Nic.’ It reminds her of the catch in her throat when they do that. They ask her why she can’t talk, not seeming to realize that she can’t tell them. Her voice just won’t let her. They prod at her arms and ask if she even has a voice box. Ask if she’s an alien or a robot or if her father is a spy and she’s been sworn not to say anything. Her teachers give her these long looks when once again they call on her and she doesn’t reply. They deduct marks when she can’t do presentations. It’s not as if she’s not trying either. She can feel the words nestled in a groove in her throat, but it’s like trying to climb up the really slippery slide in the playground-it just doesn’t work. They drop back down again. On occasion she even chants what she wants to say in her head, but it never does work. Some of the meaner kids say that she can’t talk yet because she’s not properly human. She’s still transitioning from one of the Great Apes. They make fun of her hair, the freckles that she gets all over her face, but especially her nose in the summer. She feels like sometimes it’s true that she belongs to another species. It seems so easy for everybody else. They can answer the teacher’s questions-they might not always get it right, but at least they can have a go. They can say the words that they need to and so much more besides. They practically waste what they say, but with her she feels paralysed and no one seems to understand. 

 

*

 

Her parents take her to speech therapy, but there’s no change in Nicola. In fact it just seems to make things even worse for her because she feels humiliated and like every time she has to miss a bit of school to go to a session she’s being marked out as stupid from all the other children. She’s falling behind in Maths too because she seems incapable of putting her hand up or talking to the teacher when she doesn’t understand something. Thankfully she’s grown out of the days where she’d wet herself in school because of the same reason. Her mother says that this is the last straw for her. That she’s letting her whole family down and that it’s embarrassing considering who her father is that Nicola is doing so poorly. Judy’s fed up of not having a clever child like all her other friends with their perfect lives. Nicola finds that she can’t speak much in front of her mother any more. Judy takes personal offence at this, but it’s like at school. No matter how hard Nicola tries to rectify the problem it only seems to make it worse. 

 

One weekend when she’s ten and Kammy has her head poking out of Nicola’s brown satchel, the one that they always take on adventures with them because its got absolutely everything they need in it-space for pen, paper, books and snacks-her father sits down in front of her. She thinks that he’s going to tell her that she needs to go and see the doctor again at first because he looks ever so serious and her heart sinks because she still has nightmares from the last time, but then she sees that Harry’s brought an old abacus along with him. She stares at it a little mutinously at first, knowing now what this must be about, before she glances at him. 

 

“I know you’re smart Nic”- she shakes her head. She doesn’t want him calling her the same things as people do at school, but he thinks that she means she isn’t clever and he squints at her as if she’s painful to look at like the sun. “But it’s important that we do whatever we can to improve your maths. You’ll feel more confident when you go to secondary.” She’s still not convinced. 

 

He tries he really does, pushing the beads of the abacus back and for, attempting to go through things that he knows she’s having trouble with from numerous discussions with her teacher at school and from looking at her workbooks, but none of it is a success. That is until an increasingly frantic Harry comes out with, “Maths is simple Nic.” She flinches. “Like a story.” Finally she looks more interested, her head rising like a tortoise poking out of its shell. Harry feels a sense of relief. “Stories have beginnings”-he moves some of the beads-“Middles”-some more-“And endings.” He moves the final bunch of beads across now, before he slides half of them back again. Nicola watches him curiously. “Characters are added.” One bead gets moved. “Subtracted.” The bead gets shunted back again. “You understand?” Nicola nods. From that day on maths gets a bit easier to accept, albeit not to do, but school is still difficult and problematic. 

 

*

 

Nicola is finally diagnosed with selective mutism when she’s twelve in 2003. Harry’s relieved that it’s nothing to do with the adventure stories and reads up on the subject, trying to learn anything that might help through the rest of her school life and beyond, but unfortunately there is little on the subject. Judy still seems to think that Nicola could push through what she calls, ‘this silliness,’ if she really tried hard enough. Nicola just feels relieved that her father at least seems to understand more. 

 

*

 

Thirteen and she has her hair dyed a mousy brown-her father hadn’t been pleased to see her naturally vivacious ginger hair gone one night after a bottle job, but he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that the thing he’s always looked fondly upon and always, _always,_ ruffled has just been like a beacon to the other children, a way of spotting her coming and going. She’s wanted to be a chameleon her whole life and instead she’s a frickin’ lighthouse. Doesn't he understand that she stands out enough through not talking? Not to mention through living in a house that’s far larger than anywhere that the other children do, though that’s not always a bad thing. At least there’s always a corner to escape to in her house, but she’s decided that she’s going to do anything she can to just blend in. If that means disappointing her father then _well_ …that’s just something, which she’ll have to live with. 

 

Nicola shuffles awkwardly from her spot perched on the brick wall close to the patches of dirt where some of the flowers and vegetables are growing. It’s a sunny weekend at the end of May. She’s long outgrown the days of running about playing with Kammy, but she still pictures the lizard next to her at all times. It comforts her. The lizard sits beneath her desk in all her classes and steals the best food from the canteen. She does anything she can to make Nicola laugh. At the moment she’s close to Nicola’s open brown satchel, standing still and alert, and ready to listen to Nicola if she should feel like confiding anything. Nicola’s reading a boring old Science book for school, but she’s not paying much attention to it. One leg is tucked beneath her, the other flopping down against the wall. Her mind is on the dinner party tonight. She wishes that her mother hadn’t arranged it. Her father is away enough these days with work without making people come over on the very day that he gets back from one of them too. She glances at the watch that is loosely fastened upon her wrist, the strap worn and frayed. Twenty past three. Nearly time for him to come home. That’s one good thing about him going away. He always gets back home a little earlier on days, which he returns. That means the dinner party is closer too though. Sighing she tucks her book back into her bag and slides off the wall. She waits for a moment and Kammy gives her a bit of a sad look, before she climbs amenably onto Nicola’s shoulder. The girl takes comfort from her lizard friend brushing against her. It reminds her that she is not alone. 

 

Nicola winds her way further away from the house, which sits directly behind her past some more vegetable patches and the driveway and down by the side of the road that her father will be coming up when he returns. She thinks about the other children at school now and how in sync with each other some of them seem. A soft hoot startles her, making Kammy almost fall off her shoulder. Nicola stops and smiles though when she sees her father behind the wheel of the black car. He draws the vehicle to a stop and clambers out of it with some difficulty, long limbs unfurling. When he is stood facing her, arms outstretched, a broad smile upon his face from seeing her, Nicola runs to him. She wraps her arms around his middle. He cups at her head, kisses at her hair, movement as careful as ever. 

 

“Been good?” he murmurs, voice soft and so much unlike the rumbling thunderstorms that she despises. 

 

“Yes Father.” She pulls back from him now. Her voice is scratchy from not having been used much whilst he’d been away and he looks at her with a knowing sadness. Not only about her voice, but the fact that she’d used to call him, _‘Daddy.’_

 

“Then this is for you. Your very own treasure.” Like magic he produces a small velvet box from the inside of his pinstripe suit jacket. Nicola opens it enthusiastically with glowing eyes to find that it’s a new brown-strapped watch. 

 

“Oh Daddy, it’s brilliant,” she coos and Harry smiles at her little slip up, “I needed a new one too.” She swaps the old one for the new one straight away. 

 

“Your mother driving you mad?” Harry asks her awkwardly, but again a little knowingly. 

 

Nicola laughs at that, before she mumbles, “I don’t know why she had to plan for tonight.” She kicks out a Converse covered toe at a piece of gravel now, black and green plaid shirt rustling as she does so. 

 

Harry tilts her chin upward. “It’ll be okay Nic. We’ll just do as we always do.” His voice is soothing. It calms the waves in her head-she’s long since gotten used to her father shortening her name by now. Her father and her have developed somewhat of a system for how to deal with her mother every time father’s friends come over. 

 

*

 

Nicola smiles later on when she hears her father cutting off mid-conversation with his friends to say through the thick smoke that hangs in the living room where post-dinner drinks are occurring, “More Scotch darling?” Judy had just been about to go over and start spouting her views. She’s been attempting to do so all night. 

 

It’s not like they do it to be cruel Nicola thinks from her perch on the stairs, as she watches her harried looking mother spin around again, but rather because if they didn't then embarrassing incidents would occur. One like the time Judy had loudly preached on her view of immigrants coming into the country. She doesn’t think that she’d ever seen her father-who works with people from all backgrounds-look more mortified. He is much more open-minded. In fact the only thing that Nicola really disagrees with him doing, aside from not being at home more of course, is hunting animals and birds. He takes long weekend trips to the country to do so sometimes. She’d thought at first that he only did it because all of his friends did so, but she’d overheard him talking about the adrenalin of it all. She’d wanted to tell him that there shouldn't be anything exciting about watching the life drain out of another, especially when that creature couldn't even fight back itself, which is exactly how she feels sometimes at school, but that had been the one time where words had failed her in front of him. 

 

“If you’re not going to help then you should go to bed,” her mother shoos her on the way back from the kitchen with a tray of glasses and ice. It’s the only reason probably for why she doesn’t start tidying Nicola up right there and then and Nicola knows she should be thankful for it. 

 

She gives one last look to where her father and his friends are huddled together in the smoke-she might not agree with all their views, but she likes watching them-before she turns around and makes her way upstairs. 

 

*

 

She’s sixteen when, in perhaps a desperate attempt to talk to people her own age or someone at any rate, she joins an online website and starts putting up her stories for free. They’re a mix of her own ones-the adventures that her and Kammy have been on throughout the years and enhanced ones, which feature tales from her father’s travels abroad. She does some artwork for them too. To her continuous surprise they go down well and she starts to write more than read, enthused by the response that’s been given to her. She starts to dream too, focusing on her own future rather than that of her characters. Perhaps someday she’ll have her own little flat-somewhere that’s not too far away from there to keep her parents happy-where she’ll be able to sit close to a window that pours sunshine and type away quite happily. Of course her mother does her best to ruin this closely guarded fantasy, telling her that she needs to focus on the ‘important subjects’ and not on the creative arts. The most she’ll tell her mother through a note since her voice won’t let her is that she’d like to read English when she goes to university. 

 

One night Nicola wakes to the sound of a disturbance. She thinks that she hears it in the garden at first and sits up, mind ready, all alert. She clamps her teeth down on her bottom lip as she listens hard. 

 

When she doesn’t hear anything for a few moments she thinks that she’d been mistaken-the wind perhaps or there’s a bat sometimes that brushes against her window-and slips down into bed once more-she doesn’t mind the bat. But then she hears it. It’s not coming from the garden either, but downstairs. A clanging sound that makes her heart thud, mouth whimper and hands grasp at the pillow to pull it further down. A shuffling noise from nearby draws her attention. A moment later there’s a hand rattling on her doorknob followed by a hurried low murmured conversation. 

 

“She’ll be asleep.” This the hissing voice of her mother and Nicola can imagine her pulling her fluffy, white dressing gown over one bony shoulder. 

 

“I should go and check.” Father sounds uncertain like he might be gulping. The goldfish they’d used to have in the pond by the furthest vegetable patch at the bottom of the garden had done that. That was before they’d all died. Mother had said that someone must have snuck in and poisoned them all and Nicola had wondered unkindly for a moment if it might have been her because she’d known that Nicola had liked watching them. “You should stay with her Jude.”

 

“I'm _not”-_ Mother’s words disrupted by the thudding of footsteps. The doorknob to Nicola’s room is released. There are quick, padding footsteps that get further away from Nicola. Then silence, before there are some shouts that make Nicola’s heart go boom-boom-boom. 

 

Shaking she gets out of bed. Her bedroom is similar, but different now. She has the same red and white stripy duvet, but the play tent is gone, replaced by a bigger desk that is filled with random papers and sketches and her bookcase is much larger and filled right to the brim. Posters of various characters that she’s drawn hang neatly from the walls since she’s hardly the sort of teenager to go to rock concerts. The sight of them gives her faith and courage and makes her feel almost safe, as does imagining the soft weight of Kammy upon her shoulder. 

 

Swallowing only in her nightgown she heads towards the door, her breath coming out in gasps. Her hand is just reaching for the door when it gets flung open. In that moment she feels like her entire body represents her voice and she freezes up entirely. 

 

A tall, thin man, face covered by a balaclava and with equally dark eyes stands there. He takes her in briefly, before his eyes roam across the contents of the room, as if it’s a shop and he’s trying to catch the price of everything. She sees them land on her laptop case and wants to direct his attention away from it, but she cannot speak. This is her sanctuary; the place where her father had read to her when he’d been ‘Daddy’ and this man is just invading. She cannot believe his casualness. 

 

“Get downstairs!” he says in a voice that’s so sudden and harsh that she nearly crumples to the floor. “Downstairs now!” 

 

Shakily nodding she walks past him, taking a curve around him. He smells of musk. A moment later she feels the prod of something in her shoulder and knows instinctively that it’s a gun. Trembling she begins to cry a little, but the man pushes her impatiently forwards. Her hands and feet both slip against the banister and stairs, but finally she is there and joining her parents in the kitchen. Both of them are on their hands and knees, mother in her dressing gown as she’d guessed, father in just his grey vest and blue boxer shorts. Another armed man is stood over them, also dressed from head to toe in black. This one is slightly shorter, but still thin. Father keeps repeating that they haven’t even got a safe, whilst Mother chokes onto the tiles, but then, as he sees Nicola, Harry says, “Nic-Nicola it’s all right,” before he looks at the man behind her and Judy looks up. “For God’s sake let go of her.”

 

A gun goes off. Nicola doesn’t know whose. All she knows is that she’s on the floor, rocking back and forth, hands over her ears. She hears her father moaning in pain. Sees the blur of black move across her vision as the burglars hurry to grab whatever they can and get away. The first thing she knows about anything being over is when Mother wrenches her hands away from her head and says, “We’re going to hospital.” She pulls Nicola to her feet and hugs her suddenly. Nicola feels confused. “Do you understand?” Judy asks her when she leans back to see Nicola’s blank face. Despite her confusion Nicola nods. It’s then that she realizes there are paramedics and police swarming all over the house. Then that she notices that her mother can barely look at her father who ambulance workers are gathered all around. 

 

“Daddy? _Daddy?”_ Nicola tries to look back over her shoulder now, her mouth just about uttering those words, before it goes into lockdown. Her mother’s hand is firm upon her arm; fingernails digging in like a spade in one of the vegetable patches outside. She pulls her away. 

 

*

 

Father is going to be all right. That is the most important thing. The bullet hit his lower leg, but thankfully not his knee. They spend most of the night with him at hospital; before they return to the house early that next morning in order to try and collect a few things, as well as to establish what has been taken. They've already been interviewed by the police overnight-Nicola had written her account down shakily onto some paper because she hadn’t been able to talk. Mother is adamant that Nicola must go with her to the house. That she cannot simply stay at the hospital because they might need to take Harry for a few tests or whatever and then where would she go? Nicola knows that, that’s a sensible thing to be saying, but believes that Mother’s simply trying to re-gain some control of the situation. _Besides,_ she doesn’t want to go back to the house. She hasn’t spoken a single word since she’d called out for her father the night before. Even when he’d awoken briefly and squeezed reassuringly at her hand she’d remained mute. Now she dawdles behind her mother, who is getting more and more impatient with her in every moment. 

 

“Do hurry up Nicola. Why do you have to be so difficult on today of all days?” 

 

Nicola finds that a bit unfair. Her mother should _know_ why she’s feeling this way. In fact she should be feeling the same. She doesn’t though, so Nicola ducks her head, avoiding both her mother’s angry words and the sight of the house. She stops. Kammy is gone-having run off the previous night to hide when Nicola had started rocking back and for-and she doesn’t have the courage to proceed by herself-for that, despite her mother’s presence, is what it feels like she’d be doing. 

 

Judy takes another few steps across the grass-she’s breaking her own rules today-before she realizes what has occurred. She flings herself around at the same time that a damp nose touches at Nicola’s hand. 

 

Letting out a breath the teen looks down to see a German Shepherd dog stood there. A mix of black and tan there is a dark cross on its head, the horizontal part of which goes across the dog’s eyes. They are brown and look at her sympathetically. 

 

Nicola lets out another breath at the same time that Judy shrieks, “Get away! Get away from her!” 

 

Nicola looks up to see her mother marching towards them, flapping her hands towards the dog. Nicola cannot speak, so she shakes her head instead. Judy takes little notice of her. The dog marches on the spot at the flustered and mixed gestures being sent his way, but does not leave Nicola’s side. 

 

“Sorry,” a voice calls now, and as Judy moves Nicola can see that it belongs to a scruffy silver haired figure in plain clothes who is making his way down towards them. He gestures at one of the dog handlers who is helping to search the garden and that man recalls the dog. The dog gives Nicola’s hand another nudge, before he trots off obediently. Nicola stares after him in fascination. 

 

“D.S Greg Lestrade,” she hears the man introducing himself, “I'm afraid there’ll have to be someone following you around, whilst you collect your things, but”-

 

“What’s his name?” Nicola says in reference to the dog now. Greg looks at her in surprise, not because she’d spoken-he doesn’t know about her affliction after all-but rather at her having interrupted him. Judy looks flabbergasted. Not spoken all night and now the _dog_ comes along!

 

“Not my division,” the police officer finally says, but when he sees how disappointed Nicola seems to be about this he calls across to the dog’s handler, “Oi! Your dog’s name? This one wants to know.” He jerks his thumb at Nicola. The short, stocky handler with balding brown hair looks at her for a moment.

 

“Dash,” he says back, and as Nicola glances at how the dog is jumping from one area to the next she thinks that it suits him. She glances back at Greg whose now got a crooked smile on his face as he watches her. “Like dogs do you?” 

 

Nicola, who has never had a dog of her own or found herself particularly wishing for one, finds then that she does so and nods. The man carries on speaking to Judy. 

 

Finally they make their way up to the house. Nicola starts to feel tense and apprehensive. Her head ducks and her hands curl into fists. She begins to feel like she’s wobbling more than walking, but suddenly Dash is trotting by her side again and she perks up a little, a smile creeping its way onto her face, her hand touching very lightly at the top of the dog’s head. His tongue lolls out in approval. 

 

Greg and Judy, who have made their way to the wide-open front door first, stop and turn around, Judy apologetically saying something about her out-of-sorts daughter. 

 

Greg chuckles a bit awkwardly at that and focuses instead on the sight of Nicola, who looks more confident, and Dash who walk alongside each other quite happily. “You’ve got a friend there. Usually very focused these police dogs, but he likes you.”

 

Nicola blushes and ducks her head once more, avoiding Greg’s gaze though she smiles as Dash looks up at her. 

 

*

 

It’s horrible when she realizes what’s happened-that not only have the thieves stolen her mother’s jewellery, which Judy has already complained extensively about and Harry’s watches, but they've taken her laptop too. The one way she had of communicating with the outside world that she’d actually begun to enjoy. She knows that she can get a new one, in fact her father will probably buy her an extra nice one with all the latest specifications on it to make up for it, but it won’t be the same. It won’t have numerous peeling stickers that contain quotes from her favourite books and characters on the back, it won’t have all her music on it because she doesn’t have all of it any more and she can’t remember exactly what songs featured on specific playlists, whilst the short story that she’d started and stupidly forgotten to save on her USB stick won’t be there too. She’d been doing things to it the previous night, tapping away and had shut it down, before she’d remembered about the USB stick. She’d groaned, but hadn’t thought that it particularly mattered, thought that unless her laptop freaked out on her she’d be fine. How very wrong she’d been! As she looks at the gap between the two blue walls where she’d always stowed her laptop case the now empty space makes her heart sink. 

 

A shout that comes from downstairs startles her, but it’s all right for the next moment Dash comes padding past the police officer who’s keeping an eye on her from the door and makes his way in there. The dog comes straight up to her now as if he’s on a mission, _and,_ feeling amused, she tousles his ear. 

 

“Hey boy.” Her voice is lost a moment later though when the dog’s handler comes running suddenly into the room. 

 

Out of breath he stares between them for a moment before he asks, “Dash what’s going on with you today?” The handler and the police officer exchange a glance. 

 

As if it’s a most thrilling game Dash trots back to them. Nicola just watches. 

 

*

 

Nicola’s mother and father talk quietly that night by his hospital bed, but Nicola barely pays them any attention, drawing a picture of Dash in a pad she’d salvaged from the house instead. Mother has already wryly told Father about Nicola’s new friend and he’d seemed curious and interested to learn about the dog, though Judy had quickly started to talk about something else. 

 

*

 

It is odd when everyone is back home. Different too because it doesn’t feel like home for one thing. Mother won’t let Nicola out into the garden unsupervised- _‘Something we should have probably been doing for years. After all if she can’t even talk when something goes wrong’-_ All of them feel stifled and unsafe in the house despite the fact that Harry had hobbled around fitting alarms and got someone locally to install security cameras. Nicola doesn’t much like them. She hears her parents arguing all the more. Mostly about her going off to university. Mother only wants her to go if she can go to one that’s near by and still live at home. Father feels like they should be setting an example and encouraging her to get out and explore the world. It is the only way she will ever be independent he says, which will be better off for her in the long run. Neither he nor Judy can live forever after all. Nicola doesn’t want to think about that, of being alone and not really knowing how to do anything. She does have her own thoughts on the matter though. 

 

_“Father,”_ she grasps at his hand one night when he comes to sit on her bed, seizing the moment, but already finding it difficult to keep talking. She grabs at a piece of notebook paper and a pen from where they’re both sitting on her bedside cabinet instead. _‘Please don’t be disappointed, but I don’t think I want to go to uni.’_

 

He reads it, before he withdraws his hand. “Oh Nic. Don’t be put off by what Mother’s saying. She’s only trying to protect you, but she knows deep down that you’re smart and that it will be better for you if you get out there. You could do anything. Please don’t let what’s happened effect you. This is your whole life we’re talking about here.” 

 

 _‘All I want to do is write,’_ she scribbles firmly, _‘I can do that anywhere. I know I’d need some sort of other job, but maybe I could be a children’s author?’_ She finally manages to meet his eyes once he’s finished reading. He has a conflicted look about him, half-tender, _half-_

 

“I'm glad you’ve found something that you enjoy doing Nic, but if you went to uni then you might learn things that will help with that. If you did a Business degree then you could learn how to promote your own work. Read English and even more worlds from authors past might be opened up to you and inspire you all the more.”

 

Throat tight Nicola shakes her head. She’s made her choice and she feels frightened that Father might force her to go anyway. Tears blur her eyes. 

 

“Oh Nic. Come here.” He pulls her into his shoulder one-handedly. “I don’t mean to upset you baby.”

 

“I know what I'm doing Daddy,” she finally manages to speak, as she pulls away from him. “I just want to stay here with you and Mother for now.” She falls back to him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses at the top of her hair. 

 

“All right. If you’re not ready…you can always be a mature student hey? Or go a year late?” Nicola nods now, but she knows that she’s not going to change her mind. 

 

*

 

There are more discussions between Father and Mother and the odd one where all three of them are present. Mother seems relieved by Nicola’s decision, but-‘You won’t just be sitting around doing nothing,’ she says. That’s not what Nicola wants either. When she’s been struggling to get to sleep recently she’s been looking at places where she might be able to live on her new laptop. It’s not like what she’d told Father _isn’t_ true either. She _would_ like to be with both Mother and him for a bit longer. No matter how lonely she gets it’s just what she’s used to and there’s a sense of security in that. Not to mention the fact that she hates any change. It’s just the house. Kammy still hasn’t come back to it and she feels as if her creative energy is stifled there. As if there’s been a power cut in her brain and she can’t access it. She _would_ like the dream she’d once had of living independently to come true, even if it only does so partly in the fact that she’ll probably have to get a job, which will take all her energy up from writing. Maybe writing will just become a hobby. She doesn’t know any more. 

 

One night she sees an advert online for a basement flat in the centre of London. She’s been looking more for a place on the outskirts, thinking that she wouldn't appreciate the hustle and bustle that comes from living properly inside town and that there’s enough public transport anyway. But when she sees the advert and how inexpensive it is-heck she could easily pay for the first few months rent with her savings-she’s drawn to it. 

 

 _Still,_ she has to be sensible and she can already hear Mother saying that any self-respecting landlord [or _landlady_ in this case if the name Mrs. Hudson is anything to go by] would prefer that whoever they take on _would_ be working. She puts the advert to the back of her mind for now and looks at the job listings more seriously instead, thinking that she can start applying in between finishing her schooling. 

 

Months later though when she finishes school with respectable enough A-Levels in English, Art and Religious Education [her mother had said it would surely be important what with ‘all those damn immigrants coming to live over here these days’] there’s still no job on the horizon and she’s getting a little despondent about it. Whenever she’d managed to get a job interview it hadn’t exactly gone well either. She hadn’t been able to speak because she’d felt so damn uncomfortable all the time and though she’d compiled a Power Point presentation about herself starting from the third interview in the hope that it would make things easier she’d been met by a shake of the head or a fake regretful phone call. She’d started to think that she should have gone to university after all, but it had been too late by then. 

 

Towards the end of April 2010, a part-time job in a central London library comes up. She applies for it, scrapes an interview and takes her Power Point presentation along with her, having re-done it a little to include quotes from books that she thinks best matches up to her as a person. This time she’s met with a promising smile by what would be her female boss-the short and grey-haired Celia who wears glasses around a chain on her neck-and with the words, ‘I'm impressed by how you’ve learnt to manage yourself.’ When she gets the phone call half a week later to say that she’s got the job her father-who had tried to help her prepare for each interview the best that he could-draws her to him and kisses her on the top of her head. Her mother is quiet, but pleased. Nicola’s mind starts to go towards her dream flat again. 

 

She’s surprised when she looks online to see that the link to the basement flat is still there. She wonders nervously for a moment if this Mrs. Hudson has just forgotten to take the advert down. Its been months after all. Surely it must have been taken by _now?_ Especially at _that_ price. 

 

She tentatively points the advert out to her father since she’s too nervous about his reaction to tell him orally. He’s a little concerned about the thought of her moving out, but agrees to ring up the landlady on her behalf to check what the situation is. It turns out the basement flat is still available after all! Nicola writes down on a piece of paper that she’d like to see it and holds the note up to her father. He makes an appointment for a viewing that coming Monday. It is now the beginning of May and Nicola is nineteen. 

 

Her mother is horrified by the thought of her moving out and is all set for cancelling the appointment. But then, that Sunday, they get a visitor. 

 

Nicola’s just getting up from the armchair that she’d been curled up in reading in the living room, determined to avoid whoever it could be when to her surprise she hears some throaty snuffling, as if they've been invaded by a pig and Dash arrives in the living room, his tail all a flutter when he sees her. Her lips curve into a smile and her hands go to him, voice stuck.

 

Dash’s handler plods into the room a moment later with her parents. There seems to have already been some discussion between them on the doorstep if the smile that Nicola’s father is trying to fight back is anything to go by, but he becomes serious once more when he says softly, _“Nic?_ This is Phil, Dash’s handler. He’d like to have a word with you okay?” She nods, but retreats to her armchair, as they all sit down again, feeling a little more confident when Dash remains by her side. 

 

“Now Nicola,” Phil says in a gruff tone, leaning forwards from his spot on the settee. Nicola leans back and bites upon her lip, hand automatically going to stroke Dash’s head. “Dash here has turned seven recently. He’s just retired from the police force.” Nicola listens intently. She senses that the man in front of her is a little sad, though she doesn’t know why or why he’s insisting on telling her all of this. “Truth be told he’s looking for a bit of a new home like.” He scratches at his neck. “I’d keep him if I could, but I’ve got a new puppy to train up _and_ a baby”-

 

“Oh congratulations,” Judy coos until Harry takes her hand. “Boy or girl?” Judy insists on knowing. 

 

Phil's head turns to her momentarily. “Girl. Thank you.” His ears seem a little red as he looks back at Nicola, his cheeks rugged. “I did however though think of _you.”_ Nicola stares at him now, coming across as a little blank, though her mind’s whirring hard and she feels stunned by what seems to be happening. Phil takes her gaze as being an uncomprehending one. “You know since there seemed to be such a connection between you before?” Nicola nods, expression the same. “Would you like to keep Dash for me? He’d be all yours like.” Again she nods, wishing that she could express just how happy the idea of Dash living with her makes her, but she just _can’t._ “I thought you would,” Phil says now, smile half-sad. He crouches down in the next moment, eyes bright and strokes the dog with his shovel like fingers. Dash, just thinking that he’s being affectionate, licks at his fingers sloppily. “Hey mate. I'm going to miss you, you know?” 

 

“You can visit,” Nicola’s words interrupt the scene, before she instantly wishes that she hadn’t been able to say them when the handler looks at her. He probably thinks that she’s so stupid. Her face freezes. But he just nods and smiles. 

 

“Thank you. Goodbye then Dash.” His gaze goes to the dog again. He straightens up. Dash, thinking that it’s time to go, gives Nicola one last considering look, before he stands as Phil begins to retreat. “No boy.” The handler notices the dog’s move and gives him a stop sign with his hand. “You have to stay here now. You’ve got a new home.” Dash tilts his head, confused. Finally he sits down again. “Yes, that’s right. Good boy,” Phil sniffs, sounding emotional. Dash’s tail thumps against the floor. Phil let out a sort of strangled laugh. “I’ve got some things in the car. Bag of food, his favourite tennis ball and the like. Thought you’d say yes.” He winks at Nicola. Feeling awkward she doesn’t respond. He smiles and shuffles out. 

 

Nicola finds herself looking at Dash in awe for the rest of the night, though the two quickly pick up where they’d left off, Dash following her about everywhere. 

 

“Still want to cancel tomorrow?” Harry asks Judy knowingly, as they watch Dash trail after their daughter who’s returning an empty glass to the kitchen. 

 

Judy sniffs and turns her head away, hating her husband’s sudden assured state. “We’ll give it a go,” she says, “But I’d be surprised if they want to take a dog.” Harry looks uncertain. 

 

That night when Judy pops her head in to see that Dash is curled at the end of Nicola’s bed, the both of them fast asleep, she thinks that the dog might be a God send after all. 

 

*

 

Monday morning and it’s time for the flat viewing. Nicola’s a bit apprehensive, both about meeting Mrs. Hudson and about how worthwhile the entire trip will be considering she’s got Dash now. Though the advert hadn’t said no animals on it she thinks that it’s unlikely he’ll be welcome there. When she’d discussed it briefly with Father before they’d set out that morning he’d reassured her that there would be other alternatives if this place didn't work out. ‘Plenty of people are happy to take dogs,’ he’d said and Nicola tries to bear that in mind now. She might be home for longer, but she thinks that she might be able to manage now she’s got Dash. 

 

*

 

The door of the place is black and leaves no room for disagreement. A bronze knocker lies just beneath the proclamation, ‘221B,’ which Harry uses to announce their presence. Nicola’s palms start to get clammy. Dash, who they've brought along, nudges at her hand. She swallows repeatedly, stroking at the dog’s fur for comfort. Suddenly the door gets opened and a no-nonsense older woman stands there with slightly wild graying hair and flour on the apron she’s wearing over her lilac cardigan. Her expression soon softens though when she sees them. 

 

“Sorry, I thought that might be one of my lot forgetting their keys. You must be the Smythe’s. Do come in. Oh, you’ve got a dog too. How nice.” She pats at him. Dash, eager to please, sits down and offers his paw to her. Nicola can’t help but feel pleased by the smart impression he’s making. “Well trained isn’t he?” Mrs. Hudson chuckles as she takes it. 

 

“Yes, I hope you don’t mind us bringing him? I know we didn't say anything about a dog previously, but we only actually became the owners of him last night,” Harry says apologetically now. 

 

“What an interesting story that sounds. Come in and you can explain it to me over a cup of tea.” She bustles back around again. 

 

It turns out that Mrs. Hudson has been making scones and so they get very spoilt in her little flat at the end of the hallway indeed. Whilst they eat and drink Harry explains about Dash with Judy at times butting in to comment about how fond he’d seemed of Nicola from the get go. Nicola is quiet, but not hugely uncomfortable once she’s looked around and become more adjusted to the place-the beads that Mrs. Hudson has over her doorway, the quaint little table, which she sits around with her parents, whilst Mrs. Hudson stands near by, nursing her own cup of tea, the fridge in short distance of the door. Dash lies by her feet, at home already. 

 

“The thing is,” Harry adds falteringly now, once the tale about Dash has reached its conclusion, “Nicola doesn’t talk much. Do you?” Stiff once more Nicola shakes her head. 

 

 _“Oh.”_ Mrs. Hudson pulls a sympathetic face. 

 

“It’s not just shyness,” Harry is quick to tell her, “She’s been diagnosed with selective mutism, so it’s more about social anxiety and an-an inability to speak in certain situations.” Harry looks emotional. Judy lays a hand upon his shoulder. Nicola feels sorry for what she has put her parents through, especially her father. How she would have liked to be more normal for him! Catching the young woman’s expression Mrs. Hudson feels a maternal tug inside her. She wouldn't usually take pets, but she _would_ like to help _this_ family. “So you see,” Harry recovers slightly, “The fact that my daughter and Dash have already been able to bond is an incredibly important thing. They come as a package is what I'm saying”-

 

“Like the pair I’ve got upstairs,” Mrs. Hudson murmurs to herself now. 

 

 _“Sorry?”_ Harry is curious. Dash shuffles into a sitting up position and Nicola places a hand on top of his head. 

 

Mrs. Hudson blinks. “I’ve got two boys-well, men really,” she corrects herself, “Living upstairs. They’re out at the moment, but they moved in at a similar time and bonded straight away. I definitely wouldn't want to split up Dash and you just knowing about how much they rely on one another.”

 

“I'm not sure about”- Judy begins, not sure if she wants homosexuals anywhere near her daughter. 

 

“Oh Sherlock and John. They've got good hearts,” Mrs. Hudson interrupts her. “They’re a little noisy”-at this Nicola’s parents exchange a glance and she herself feels uneasy-“But if you’re worried about your daughter then around them you can ensure that she’ll be safe. Sherlock you see helps the police, so we've got officers and members of the public in and out all the time, and when John’s not with him he’s a doctor.” Judy raises her eyebrows. That _does_ sound a little bit better at least. “They’ll protect your daughter Mr and Mrs Smythe.” Nicola stares at her earnest face and wants to believe her, _but-_

 

“Noise you say, and people coming in and out all the time?” Harry considers, getting a bit worked up again, before he admits rather apologetically, “You see my daughter finds loud sounds difficult to put up with.” 

 

“It’s the basement flat though. She’ll be tucked away nicely in there and she can always visit me if she’s feeling a bit uncomfortable. At least see the flat, before you decide on it.” Mrs. Hudson seems a little crestfallen now. Has she talked them out of it already?

 

Harry, biting upon his lip, nods. Looking relieved Mrs. Hudson sets her cup down, gathers up her keys and leads the four of them to the basement flat. 

 

Nicola is set on edge just by the jangle of the keys, but at the door opening slightly and Mrs. Hudson’s encouragement she steps forwards first, Dash sticking close to her side. There are some furnishings in place, which Mrs. Hudson points out have been fitted recently-a small kitchen area off to one side and a bed and some basic storage space in the bedroom, but the main living area is a blank one. 

 

“There’s some damp on the ceiling, but the boys got me a couple of those dehumidifier’s and we've been using that to lessen it. I’ve been leaving the door open to get some air in too,” Mrs. Hudson admits nervously, _“Besides,_ if you’re at work all day Nicola”-

 

“She’s got a part-time job in a library,” Harry fills in promptly. 

 

“Then perhaps you won’t notice it,” Mrs. Hudson finishes a little breathlessly. 

 

There’s even a window for Nicola to fulfil her dream of sitting by it writing, whilst the sun pours in and she feels a little comfortable there already, which is an unforeseen thing considering what she’s just heard about all the noise. She finds that rather than minding the blank space she’s got in front of her she’s mentally planning where bits of furniture might go. As if he senses such a thing Dash trots out into the centre of the floor, before he promptly falls deliberately down and rolls on his back, kicking his rear legs out in glee and making snuffling sounds of delight. 

 

Everyone laughs, even Nicola, before she quickly stops doing so again and becomes on guard at the sight of the smile that Mrs. Hudson is giving her. She leans into her father instead, shielding her face. 

 

“What do you think honey?” He pulls two strands of her hair apart. 

 

“I think this might be the place for me Dad,” she mumbles, knowing that it’s stupid, but not wanting Mrs. Hudson to hear her. She does so anyway and lets out a fond coo. Harry lets out a breath that is both full of relief and sadness. 

 

Judy’s still not sure though. “Perhaps we should go home and talk some more about it?” 

 

“Of course,” Mrs. Hudson allows, almost resigning herself to yet another failed attempt at getting someone to fill the space. 

 

“Jude she wants to be here,” though Harry says, “Her and Dash both do. We can rest easier now she has the dog and if”- he looks at Mrs. Hudson uncertainly now, but she seems to understand what he means. 

 

She steps forwards and places her hands upon Judy’s shoulders. “Mrs. Smythe I assure you that those boys will be good to your daughter or they’ll have me to answer to. Between Dash and I we’re not going to let anything bad happen to her.”

 

Judy finally nods and though Mrs. Hudson had meant every word of what she’s just said it’s also true that she does a little tap dance of glee on the inside from finally having got someone to take the place. 

 

They get the paperwork sorted out, but just when the Smythe family is on the verge of leaving Harry looks over his shoulder at the front door and it suddenly clicks with him. “This is the place isn’t it?” He turns back around again properly now. Nicola’s stomach drops. Surely her father’s not going to come up with something for why she shouldn't come here? Judy looks puzzled. Mrs. Hudson troubled. “That got partly blown up not too long ago in that gas explosion?” Nicola freezes. 

 

“Well yes,” Mrs. Hudson begins falteringly now, careful, before she gets into her stride, “But it was like you were saying about that burglary of yours. It was a freak incident. Nothing like that had ever happened before in all your twenty-two years of living there and as you can see we’re all patched up again now.”

 

Harry looks somewhat reassured. Judy places a hand upon his shoulder. “She’ll be as safe as she can be.” They've signed on the dotted line. It’s too late in her mind to do anything about it. They’ll just have to make the best of it that they can. 

 

Nicola feels surprised, but when her father nods she feels relieved again. She’s going! She’s _actually_ going! 

 

*

 

Nicola moves in to 221C-the official name of her exciting new flat-in the middle of May. No one had seen any point in wasting any time and though Nicola had been apprehensive about it she’d known that it was best this way. If she’s going to move out then she might as well move out. No point building it up into a big moment, even though it _is_ a big moment and probably the largest one since the burglary, Dash, she’d gotten her job and been diagnosed with her condition. _Still,_ that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel a bit sad to be saying goodbye to her parents. Her mother pulls her to her tightly much to her surprise and kisses at her hair. Father tries to be more reassuring and gruff about the whole thing-‘We’re not going to be far away. You can ring and visit at any time’-

 

‘But _do_ call first Nicola,’ Mother says promptly, ‘Don’t just pop around. We might be busy.’ 

 

Nicola is a little lonely that night though once everything is more or less in place. Her parents might have spoilt her, but she’s found that she doesn’t have many important things in the end and it doesn’t take very long for her to unpack it all-her parents had helped her with the furniture. Mrs. Hudson is kind to her too; inviting her to have dinner with her in her flat-apparently Sherlock and John are out again-and of course wonderful Dash makes things all the easier. But she _is_ appreciative of the fact that her father starts calling her every day. It makes her feel as if she’s still got some sort of connection to her old life, which helps with the transition into her new one and also reassures her _because,_ quite frankly, even though it’s only early days with it not even being June yet she’s starting to wonder if she’d made the right decision after all. Some of the visitors to the house really smell like the worst of London’s sewers and the pungent pong of fast food combined. Whilst she hasn’t met Sherlock or John yet-her father had tried to encourage her to just go upstairs and introduce herself when she knows that they’re definitely home or ask Mrs. Hudson for help in doing so, he’d even offered to speak to the landlady himself, but Nicola had declined, as she’s trying to do more things for herself now-she _has_ heard the racket they make. It’s true that sometimes the delicate sound of the violin is interspersed with the bangs coming from upstairs, but one night she’d sworn she’d heard a gunshot. It had set her on edge and she hadn’t been able to sleep all that much, trembling instead. Her duvet had been pulled right up to her chin, whilst Dash had whined softly, ears pricked. Her father had been able to tell that there had been something wrong the following day when he’d phoned her, but she hadn’t said exactly what. She’d known that she could have sent him a text about it, but once again she’d wanted to give everything a good go and had thought that her parents would definitely bring her straight back home if they knew what she’d heard the previous night. 

 

On the first day of June though the strangely noisy occupants of 221B introduce themselves. John, who is a short, sandy brown haired man and who that day wears a stripy black and white top and jeans, apologizes for it taking so long. At the beginning of April they’d finished a very exhausting case he says and then he’d gone away to New Zealand, so although things had been a little quieter since Nicola herself had moved in things seem to have spiralled one way or another and they just hadn’t found the chance to do so. 

 

“John here wanted to look his best for you and he’s been a bit glum ever since he split up with his girlfriend Jessica, that’s the truth”- the dark, curly haired spectral figure who looms over John’s shoulder says, his blue-green eyes vivid and a wry smile on his cupid-bow lips. Nicola assumes that he must be Sherlock.

 

“Sarah,” John says irritably now, “I broke up with _Sarah,_ Sherlock.” He tries to fix his eyes very hard on Nicola now and ignore the smirking figure that is Sherlock. Nicola feels a little bit surprised. Like her mother she’d assumed the two men were together, but _unlike_ her mother she hadn’t seen anything wrong in that. 

 

“Is that quite true though?” Sherlock rocks a bit on his heels. “Or did she break up with you?” 

 

John looks ready to curse the man, so Nicola points in between them questioningly. “You’re a loud one aren't you?” John jokes, missing as Nicola cringes and Sherlock winces. He adds instead, “No, despite what Mrs. Hudson might think we’re not together. I assume that she told you that Sherlock’s a consulting detective?” Nicola looks blankly at him. 

 

“That means I help the police when they’re being useless… _again,”_ Sherlock says and Nicola nods. She hadn’t been aware that there was an _official_ word for what Sherlock did. John smiles now and Nicola tries to smile back at him, but she finds it difficult to. Slowly the smile disappears from John’s face and Nicola worries that she’s making a bad impression on the pair of them now she’s finally had the chance to meet them and looks down, her mind a hive of worry. Sherlock, finding all the emotions going on in front of him far more complex than they need to be, brushes past Nicola in that long dark coat and blue scarf of his, knowing what he needs to do. Nicola’s alarmed though by the sudden intrusion into her space and sensing such a thing Dash comes forwards and growls softly. “Hey, there’s no need for that old thing,” Sherlock soothes, “I used to have a dog.” Sherlock crouches by the dog and lets him sniff his black, leather gloves.

 

 _“Did you?”_ John asks in surprise, as Dash begins to wag his tail faintly. 

 

“Mm. _Redbeard.”_ Sherlock, thinking it safe to do so, slips his hand out of one of the gloves and begins to stroke Dash. The dog’s tail wags even more at that and he begins to lick at Sherlock’s hand. Some of the tension goes out of Nicola’s shoulders. If Dash is accepting of this man then he can’t be all that bad no matter what she’d heard coming from upstairs or how he’d shoved his way into her flat just now. She looks back at John who’s stepped awkwardly into the flat too and is off on one side, looking at a loss as to what he should be doing. “What’s your name then?” Sherlock asks the dog quietly, reaching for the tag on his collar. _“Dash!_ What a splendid name!” Nicola’s heart jumps a little at that and she feels happy, glad to have Sherlock appreciating the creature who means so much to her. Wanting to try and communicate with him somehow she opens her mouth a couple of times, before she shakes her head and gets out her phone. 

 

“We can go if”- John says awkwardly. Frustrated Nicola’s head goes from side to side. She hurriedly begins to tap on her phone and gets the text-to-speech to say, _‘Dash used to be with the Met.’_

 

“Ah, I think we might have met before in that case then Dash.” Sherlock winks at the dog. Dash holds out his paw for him to shake happily. His long tongue flops sideways out of his mouth. 

 

 _‘When he retired he came to live with me,’_ Nicola adds to the message, _‘People get close to their pets, but perhaps because I have selective mutism I became even closer to him.’_ John’s eyes widen at that. _‘One of the reasons why my parents let me come here was because of him.’_

 

“I'm really sorry for what I said before,” John says, “I'm a doctor and I had no idea.” 

 

“Wouldn't be the first time,” Sherlock quips now. He turns away from Dash and faces Nicola. John looks annoyed by him. “I apologize if you’ve been frightened by any of the noises that you’ve heard coming from upstairs since you’ve moved in. I have a high-pressurized job and it would be a waste of time for me to attempt to be quiet. It would enable me to help people less quickly if I did so, but I did not wish to frighten you. Though I can’t say that you won’t hear any of those noises in the future I shall do my best to take you into consideration more.” John looks surprised. _“Well,_ that’s what you wanted me to say isn’t it?” Sherlock looks at his friend again, before he sweeps out. John throws an apologetic look Nicola’s way, before he quickly hurries after him. 

 

*

 

It’s true that whilst Sherlock doesn’t stop making such noises and things seem particularly bad when he doesn’t have a case, he _does_ seem to do what he said by taking Nicola into account. He comes to her flat after making a racket and sits by her, all quiet and thoughtful, knees up to his chest and triangular pointed shoes on her blue settee, hands in a prayer position. He always dirties the settee with mud, which aggravates her a bit, but when he tells her the story of how people can find a lot out through different mud samples she becomes a bit more accepting of it, even a little amused by it all. Her parents have noticed that she’s become a little more settled, commenting on her more carefree sounding texts. Sometimes Sherlock plays the most beautiful music on his violin, stood upright in Nicola’s flat until she gets sleepier and sleepier. After those nights she always finds herself waking up on the settee in the morning, a blanket draped across her, not remembering how it had gotten there, but knowing that it had probably been down to her consulting detective friend. She thinks that’s what he’s become now. She’s even managed to speak in front of him a little, the first being when she had tiredly thanked him for playing a classical version of one of her favourite pop songs- _‘She Will Be Loved’_ by _'Maroon 5'_ -one night, even if he had rummaged through her playlist, the little sneak. He’d smiled at that and kissed her forehead. She’s braver about venturing up to 221B now, although she is a little shy when other people aside from those she lives with are there-the smelly people had turned out to be members of Sherlock’s Homeless Network, who Nicola has learnt aren't initially as bad as they might seem and Greg Lestrade-a Detective Inspector now-had been there one day. He’d been surprised to see both her and Dash and she’d had fun helping Sherlock explain the conclusion of a case to him via a flip chart that they now have in Sherlock’s kitchen. She’d suspected that Sherlock had ordered such a thing for her in order to help her feel all the more included and she’d been grateful for such a thing. She’s also allowed to read the books in the bookcase in the 221B sitting room and after each case Sherlock now drags her up there to eat a bowl of alphabet spaghetti with him. It’s one of Nicola’s favourites and what they jokingly use to guess what John might call the latest completed case on his blog. Sometimes Sherlock challenges her to put the different elements of a case together. A lot of the time she doesn’t get it right, but her enhanced empathy allows her to make some point or other, which Sherlock pretends to scoff at, but looks impressed by usually. It’s nice that he doesn’t think her stupid. It would have been a lot harder to keep going in the place if her flatmates had made her life difficult. Dash of course would have probably bitten them, but thankfully he hasn’t had cause to. John too acts like a big brother, explaining to anyone who Nicola happens to come across about her condition, though the first time he’d done so he’d quickly asked awkwardly if that had been all right for him to do so and Nicola had nodded, thinking that it probably made him feel better after the way that they’d first met. When none of these things are occurring she’s started writing in her spare time again, so life is good, but as life does it changes again.

 

 **Mycroft-2010**

 

He dreams that he wakes. That he is a teenager again, his body still heavy with all the weight that he’s yet to lose. Dreams that the flames from the fire he’d thought he’d been solely dreaming about are clinging to his eyelashes like tears. His breath pants as he lifts himself up with a groan. Sherlock’s body is tucked up against him. 

 

“You were having a nightmare, _again,”_ Sherlock says, his voice heavy with tiredness. Mycroft finds his little brother in bed with him more often than not these days and not just because of the monsters beneath his bed or the children picking on him at school either. In fact Sherlock can’t seem to get comfortable in his new bed at all. He says that it is nothing like the old one. Mycroft’s bed though seems oddly perfect for him. 

 

 _“Oh,”_ Mycroft says, voice ragged, hoarse. He is not sure what to make of that. He does not want his brother finding out the truth inadvertently from him. Finding out what their sister Eurus had done to Sherlock’s best friend who his little brother now seems to think was a dog. But if Sherlock had really discovered anything from any unconscious rambling that Mycroft had let slip when he was asleep then he feels sure that he’d know about it by now. The little imp would not be wriggling against him, bony cold knees knocking against Mycroft’s body as he shifts his position into a more comfortable one. Not be making little sleepy sounds. He’d be shouting and screaming. Reassured by the thought Mycroft places a large hand on the boy’s dark and tousled curls. “Go to sleep ‘Lock.” He feels the initial deep breath of Sherlock’s resistance-a stubbornness that he no doubt gets from their mother-before his brother’s blue-green eyes slip shut anyway. 

 

Mycroft waits until his brother’s breaths have grown even again, before he slips out of bed. It is a cold night and he pulls on a stripy navy and black nightgown and ties it up, before he slips his bare feet into blue and black tartan slippers. He makes his way downstairs. The last house might have been their ancestral home, but this one by far has more creepy paintings of their relatives in it. The eyes seem to follow him. He misses the homely bright yellow glow, which their last home had seemed to have. This one makes him shiver, but perhaps it is what he deserves for being complicit in the cover up of the truth surrounding Eurus. For feeling like he has to watch his brother twenty-four seven just in case. He sighs, flicking the kitchen light on. This house has switches. The other had, had a string like flypaper, which they’d had to pull for the electric. How he misses it!

 

“What are you sighing at?” the demanding voice of his mother Violet asks. 

 

Mycroft jumps. He sees her sitting down at the circular kitchen table. [The table in the last house had been rectangular; big enough for them to all sit around comfortably. This one is a bit of a squeeze. Sherlock blames Mycroft’s weight.] Violet is wearing a dressing gown the same colour as her name over her frilly Victorian like nightgown and in the dim light-for there is no roar of warmth in this kitchen like there had been in the previous-the whitening parts of her hair seem more starkly visible. Her eyes are no less piercing though and he finds that he pulls his own dressing gown more tightly around himself. _“Nothing.”_ He gives a bit of a shrug. His shoulders feel stiff. 

 

“If you’re sighing at nothing then you might as well join me.” He does so and she pushes her rapidly cooling cup of tea aside in order to study him. “You’re looking peaky Mycroft.” 

 

“Mm.” He doubts that and though he wishes he could help it his eyes dip down to his stomach momentarily anyway. 

 

It’s Violet’s turn to sigh. “I’ll make you some honey on toast.” That’s what they’d always eaten in the kitchen of their old home. She gets up from the table and turns away from him. 

 

“You don’t have to Mummy. I'm not feeling that peckish.” He doesn’t want her to use up all the honey that they’d managed to salvage from the bee colony in their old home, but of course Violet would have to look at him just as his stomach chooses to rumble. 

 

Her face turns disbelieving. “I'm making you some,” she says. 

 

He watches as she bustles around-fetching the piece of bread, putting it in the toaster, buttering it, fetching the honey, slathering it on-and feels all the more inadequate. She’s so busy. She just manages to carry on despite what has happened. Despite the fact that his mind feels like it is utterly consumed by it all. He tightens his dressing gown all the more, but then has to release it a little because he feels like it’s cutting into his stomach. He does so morosely. 

 

Once the honey on toast is done she touches at his hand in a rare moment of affection as she puts the plate down in front of him. Feeling suddenly choked he begins to eat the toast clumsily, fingers fumbling. 

 

“You haven’t been the same since your father and-and Eurus died.” Mycroft sees the flames from the fire in their old house rise up like a wall in front of him now. He feels a distinct fear and panic about him and finds it suddenly hard to swallow. He only manages to do so when his mother touches at two of his fingers. “I know you feel like you need to step up and be the man of the house now Mycroft. I understand _that,_ but Sherlock’s not going to break if you look away from him for one moment”-Mycroft adamantly thinks that his brother just might-“And the world is not going to end if you pull your head away from one of those great big books I’ve seen you lugging around and go back to fiction for an hour or two. Go for a walk. Find a route you like and lose some of that weight you’ve put on.” 

 

“I'm just trying to do well at school Mummy. Make sure that, that at least goes right.” Mycroft abandons his toast and ducks his head. 

 

He’s not quite sure what happens in the dream after that, all he remembers is Mummy’s penetrating stare, but when he wakes properly it is with a heaviness inside his chest and an even bigger ache when he realizes that he is a forty-year-old adult now and the bed is devoid of his brother. For a dream it had rung particularly true. He _had,_ had a similar conversation like that with his mother once. One where she’d told him that though they wanted him to keep an eye on Sherlock they perhaps hadn’t meant it so literally. They just wanted Mycroft to be there for him if Sherlock should remember it all and get upset. He’d persisted in looking out for his brother and in reading his tombs anyway. Right now however Sherlock is probably sleeping at last after a long night of causing chaos with John. Sherlock doesn’t always think that he needs his big brother any more. Mycroft lifts himself up. He is leaner than he’d been as a boy-he had at least followed Mummy’s advice in that respect. His mind is troubled though. For his father and Eurus might not have died in that fire, but the reality of having to pretend that his sister _had_ died in a succeeding one-Uncle Rudy’s idea of course. Why did Mycroft ever have to listen to him?-for his parents and Sherlock’s overall benefit, haunts him. He is also afraid of what seems to be developing between Sherlock and his new neighbour Nicola Smythe. Sherlock might be thirty-three and Nicola nineteen, but Mycroft knows that line of argument will hardly be something that his brother will even consider. Sherlock is driven by his curiosity and has barely left Nicola alone since meeting her. If there’s something there that attracts him he won’t be deterred. It is left for Mycroft to think clearly on his behalf. For he is worried about what his brother might remember if he should fall in love. He’d worried when John had come on the scene at first-a new best friend after all-but luckily that didn't seem to have unlocked anything in his brother’s fragile mind. Love though Mycroft knows could be different. He gets out of bed with a frown now _and,_ after locating his laptop, which is never far away from him- this time being in its case by the side of his wardrobe-he switches it on and loads up the footage that he’d had secretly installed into 221C just before Nicola had moved in. He sees the figure of the girl sleeping beneath the blanket and frowns. Might be time to introduce himself. 

 

 **Nicola-2010**

 

Nicola’s in the 221B sitting room, curled up in Sherlock’s armchair in her blue and black plaid shirt with three-quarter length dark trousers, a book in her hands one Saturday morning that she’s not working. Sherlock and John are out, finishing something off at the police station. She feels sure that if any visitor comes then, what with the boys being out, Mrs. Hudson will send them on their way again and she’s found it safer to go home or meet her parents in a café rather than having them come there and possibly end up becoming disapproving of where she lives on closer inspection and the company that she keeps. She hears the doorbell ring and jumps initially, but soon settles back down again at the reassuring pad of Mrs. Hudson’s footsteps going down the hallway to answer it. She hears the landlady talking to someone-a man possibly going by the tone-and assumes that it’s a client who will soon be on his way again. She feels some surprise indeed when she hears the tread of footsteps upon the stairs. Footsteps far too heavy to be Mrs. Hudson coming up and kindly asking her if she’d like a cup of tea or to spend some time with her. She begins to panic. Her heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings against her chest. It’s probably a client who has to have his case heard that day and is willing to wait until Sherlock and John return. Her back presses against the armchair. Dash senses her unease and clambers to his feet. His nose sniffs at the air, before he tentatively takes a couple of steps towards the door. She sees the tip of auburn hair first and then a man who she just has to think of being mesmerizing enters the room. She’d thought that the way Sherlock sometimes looked at her could stop her dead, but when this man looks at her out of pale blue eyes, not multi-coloured or ones that are alive as much as Sherlock’s, but frozen as if in a time capsule, her heart feels as if it’s being staked into place, as if that man could do anything that he wanted to her in that moment and she wouldn't be able to stop him. It unsettles her. His eyebrows are thin and quirk upward when they look at her, as if something about her surprises him as much as he surprises her. She cannot know that the CCTV had really not done justice to her beauty, even though it’s a little odd and off-kilter. More curious than outstanding, as if you could look at her for years and still notice something new. It disturbs him. His equally thin lips settle into a state, which make him look determined. He carries an umbrella with a posh wooden bamboo handle. It is so much unlike the raggedy black folding one that she keeps. He wears a pinstripe three-piece grey suit with a red tie that has little blue knights helmets on it. Her heart does something funny when she catches sight of the gold chain of a pocket-watch, slippery and silky as it hangs out of his waistcoat. She’s never seen one outside of a book before. He appears trapped in time just as much as her voice is trapped inside of her. She knows that she won’t be able to say anything in that moment. She’s at the bottom of the slide again and she’s staying there. Dash goes up to the man and tries to introduce himself the only way dogs know how. The man fends him off, using the umbrella like a sword, and the long, outstretched fingers of his free hand are swung about for balance. He looks like he’s bull fighting and Nicola feels suddenly amused about it all. The flicker of light fades though when the man looks at her with a frown, as if she’s the most unsavoury creature that he’s ever come across in his entire existence. She cannot know that he wants to keep focused and on his mission despite the fact that she is more beautiful than he had previously taken her to be. Dash eyes the man suspiciously now, before he withdraws to Nicola’s side. Her fingers go to the dog’s head as they both seek comfort from one another. Her hand jumps when the man gets his phone out and begins to tap something out on it, his umbrella now hooked over one arm. She jumps again when her own phone goes off a moment later. Her fingers dive in her pocket and she sees that she has a text from an unknown number. 

 

**Sherlock informed me this was the method I’d best be able to communicate with you. Actually I believe his exact words were, ‘Oh, good luck interrogating my new friend. This one doesn’t always talk.’ I assume that because you seem to have all of your digits intact you are able to text however?**

 

She feels a little irked by the last comment, but the message as a whole unnerves her and her hands grow clammy at once. Even if it wasn’t obvious she’s able to tell that it’s this newcomer who has sent her the message by the way that his eyes fix upon her lingeringly. Something locks in her jaw. She looks down at her phone again. Just who is he? And if Sherlock had known that this man was going to come around and question her for some reason then shouldn't he have warned her about it? So much for him being a good friend she thinks now. She doesn’t particularly like the way that Sherlock had apparently spoken to him either. She’s got used to people talking about her in a hurtful manner, but she’s come to expect better from him and hadn’t thought that he’d use her in a point-scoring way. The rustle of the man’s clothes as he sits down in John’s armchair brings her out of her thought. His umbrella now leans against the wall by the door. The man clears his throat and her gaze goes to him. He’s sat right back in the chair as if he owns it. He taps at his phone and a streak of red runs rampant across her face. It’s her turn to frown, and as she looks over his shoulder instead, finding it difficult to keep eye contact, she wonders just who on earth this man thinks he is. How dare he rush her in a place where she should feel comfortable! Dash emits a soft growl, as if he senses Nicola’s thoughts. The man’s eyes go to him and his fingers twitch. As she feels minutely more satisfied she taps into her own phone: _Who are you? How did you get my number? Did Sherlock give it to you?_

 

“The way that I received your number should be of no consequence to you,” the man says as soon as he gets her text. His voice is posh and rather smooth like honey, but her eyes narrow. “As for who I am I'm sure that you can make your own deductions.” She stares at him. “I'm in touch with Sherlock. The landlady clearly knows who I am or she wouldn't have let me in; much less let me come up here. Yet I come at a time when Sherlock and John are out. If I could get your number so easily then surely I must also have ways of establishing whether or not they would be in. In that case then I haven’t come to see them therefore I’ve come to see _you,”_ he says all of this in a very deliberate Sherlock like way. 

 

She blinks and digests it in a heartbeat, before she taps out something quickly on her phone. _Yet I don’t know why you’d be coming to see me because I don’t have the faintest clue of who you are._

 

The man’s phone pings and he reads her words quickly, before he looks back across at her with a stare of pure indulgence about his face. “Who did I just sound like?” Her eyes widen. He’s Sherlock’s _brother?_ Sherlock’s _older_ brother by the looks of things. “There. Now I can see that we've got that out of the way then perhaps you could inform me of what exactly your relationship is with Sherlock?” 

 

 _If you’re Sherlock’s brother then surely you already know? Or aren't you blessed with his abilities?_ She feels stronger now. She might not have the exact measure of the man down, but his nerve and the fact that she’s clearly got the upper hand because he wants information out of her makes her be able to fight back. 

 

“If you think that my brother’s skills are extraordinary then I assure you that my own are far superior Miss Smythe.” 

 

 _Is that right?_

 

“Indeed,” Sherlock’s brother says, looking ruffled that she’d doubt him. “The book that you’re reading for example tells me that you’re reading it more than purely for pleasure. It is an old fashioned one. A book that I would not expect someone of your age to take much of an interest in. _Oh!”-_ he quickly adds now when he sees that her face has contorted into rage-“ I am not saying that you’re not an educated sort. I can tell that you are from the way that you sit. Upright enough to suggest that you aren't afraid of having to prove people wrong if they dare question your knowledge. I was simply saying that perhaps it is a book you are reading for other purposes? I believe that there is an exhibition to do with that author in the closest library to here soon? Perhaps you work there? I can imagine that it’s a suitable place for someone of your disposition.” He doesn’t say that of course he’s already looked her up. She stares at him warily. “Sound effects you doesn’t it? I could tell from the way that your hand jumped when my phone went off. It was such a slight gesture that perhaps you didn't realize it when you made it. But _I_ did.” The man looks particularly smug. “The way that you patted at your dog-a creature that I am not surprised in the slightest that Mrs. Hudson chose to admit after she’s already accepted my brother by the way”-Nicola’s lips twitch upward at that, but she quickly tries to hide it-“Also told me that perhaps you do not have quite a strong capability as you try to project to the outer world, especially under times of great stress. You feel different _constantly.”_

 

 _I suppose you’d know what it’s like to feel that way?_ She texts him, trying to move the focus away from herself. 

 

“Indeed. My brother too…” the man trails off now and looks as if he’s coming out of some great, big thought. “Speaking of my brother I do not believe that you’ve answered my question?” He looks at her intently. 

 

Finding it easier to reply to such a thing she responds: _He’s been good to me since I first moved in. He’s not the quietest, but he’s been good. I'm not going to speak badly of him if that’s what you want?_

 

“No, if you do not want to then I would not wish to force you. The truth however would be most appreciated,” the man says, as he looks up from his phone again. She notices that he’d tried to keep his voice light and that one eye keeps sliding towards Dash. “Going back to the matter of your job however I can’t believe that it pays you terribly well?” Her fingers make to tap at her phone, but he adds swiftly, “I know all about your voluntary role, going around schools and the like. I saw the dog’s coat on my way in.” He’d seen the coat because Nicola keeps it close to the main door, but of course he’d already known about her other role from his research. “If you did fancy earning a little extra, so that you’d have money to spend on things other than rent and necessities-?” The man pauses when there comes a jangling sound from the front door, followed swiftly by two loud male voices and then noise upon the stairs.

 

“Mycroft, I swear if you’ve touched anything other then that blasted door knocker”- comes the sound of Sherlock’s irritated voice. 

 

The man, who Nicola assumes is called Mycroft of all things, gets up and smoothes his trousers down with one quick pat of his hands. “Sherlock,” he says, doing half a turn now, “I was just introducing myself to your new… _ah,_ neighbour.”

 

Nicola feels annoyed at that. She’s hardly new. Not any more. She’s long gotten used to the general chaos of the place and she sends a text off at once. 

 

“Nicola says,” Sherlock snitches as soon as he reads it, “That you hadn’t even told her your name and that you were trying to blackmail her when we walked in.” 

 

“Blackmail’s a very strong word my dear. Why I hadn’t even finished my sentence.” Mycroft turns back to Nicola now, looking at her if she’d disappointed him. She shrugs, though she feels a little chilled from the term of endearment he’d sent her way. She doesn’t owe him any loyalty.

 

 _“No!_ No talking to her.” Sherlock comes forwards and chivvies his brother away again. “Thank you for not taking Nicola to a warehouse like you did with John, but you can go now.” Mycroft, looking disgruntled, makes his way to the door. “Mind you don’t fall on the stairs on your way out won’t you? I'm sure that Dash could make the leap over you, but it would be very difficult for Nicola to I'm sure what with your body mass index being the way that it is.” She feels like Sherlock is being a bit mean there. Mycroft’s a bit creepy, but he’s not fat. 

 

“Very well. I can see the way that things are going to be.” Mycroft glances coolly back at Nicola now, before he leaves again.

 

“Are you all right?” John checks. 

 

She nods. _Did you give him my number?_ she questions Sherlock. 

 

“No. Is that what he implied?” Sherlock growls. He looks like he’s going to get his brother for that. 

 

She shakes her head. _He wouldn't say where he got it from. He just made it sound like you knew that he’d be around to interrogate me. Not that I mind, but I would have appreciated a heads-up._

 

“Apologies.” Sherlock comes to her, feeling a bit guilty. Dash, as he does whenever he sees Sherlock, wags his tail. Whilst John, who has only been privy to one side of the conversation looks like he’d appreciate it if someone could bring him up to date. Especially about what had made Sherlock just apologize. “One thing you ought to know about my brother Nicola,” Sherlock says in a low, warning tone now, his fingers close to touching the arm of the chair, “Is that he’s the British Government. You can’t trust him, so it’s best that you stay away from him, you hear?” She nods. It’s already pretty clear to her that Mycroft’s not exactly about to be a new friend and the way that he’d behaved had hinted that he might be somehow important. Although she is surprised at just _how_ important. 

 

* 

 

Nicola’s in the library one day in July, which all in all she’s found to be a good place to work. It’s true that it had been a little challenging at first, but luckily her boss Celia had been understanding, letting her get more of a feel for the place and allowing Nicola to help with the shelving and displays of books, before asking her if she’d be comfortable to work on the front desk on some days. Nicola, wanting to push herself, had agreed. She’d had to think of back up-plans though for all the times when she wouldn't be able to speak. Of course she had her text-to-speech to rely on, that was probably her best bet as long as people didn't think that she was being rude when she tapped on her phone. Celia thought that she’d probably be safe enough with this method and Nicola had felt glad that her boss had her back. But she also decided to buy some badges online that she could use for quick conversation points such as greeting someone or thanking them. By the time that she got her phone out after all people would probably be gone and think her rude for not conveying such messages. She also made a couple of her own badges, one which she’d be able to tap to ask if people had their library card that day, the other which asked people for their patience because of her condition. Luckily she found that most people were willing to bear with her and some even seemed glad that she’d been offered the chance of a job there in the first place. There were a couple of rude people, ones who sniggered or jeered or even stared at her enough to make her feel uncomfortable. She tried not to let it get to her. She had enough practice after all. 

 

It is perhaps this sort of determination, which makes Celia go up to her that day when Nicola is just coming off the front desk for a break. 

 

“Could I have a word with you for a moment?” Nicola freezes, but relaxes somewhat again when Celia puts a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. The blue and brown bracelets around her wrist jangle and her pale eyelashes look long over light brown eyes. Nicola nods and they gather in front of the cabinets where all the discs for the DVD’s are stored. “I’ve watched you over these past few weeks Nicola.” Nicola’s lips tremble. Is she about to be sacked? She’d thought that she’d been doing reasonably well considering, and the sudden gravitas of the moment takes her by surprise. “Relax dear,” Celia soothes, stroking at her shoulder, navy nail polish on her talon like nails. “I just wanted to tell you that I'm very proud of you.” Nicola’s insides crack with relief. “You’re doing all the right things and not being afraid to come to me when you’re not sure.” Nicola grimaces a little. Going to Celia about her communication techniques hadn’t been done lightly. It was only because she felt comfortable enough around the older woman that she’d managed to. Celia smiles now. “I was just wondering you see because this woman brought in this poster today and you were telling me about that dog of yours, but there’s this course coming up at the end of August. It’s a voluntary thing, held only in the hall down the road in fact, but if you completed it then you’d be able to take your dog around all the different schools and help the children there with their reading. I know the woman who’s running it and could tell her about you if you wanted. You wouldn't get paid if you ended up doing any work, but I just thought it would be a good opportunity for you to do something different when you’re not here.”

 

Nicola thinks about it for a moment. She’s not sure how much she’d be able to help the children with their reading, she supposes that she’d have to rely on the text-to-speech on her phone again, but it _does_ sound like a good opportunity and it would be nice to put Dash’s brain to use. Though he’s come out of retirement to help Sherlock on a few cases she does feel sorry for him all the times that he’s just cooped up with Mrs. Hudson-the landlady _had_ tried walking him once, but he’d decided to do his business on the tyre of her sports car and though she’d forgiven him after a time his walking days with her had been over. Nicola nods, thinking that she’ll give it a go and then if nothing comes from it then at least she’s tried. 

 

“Good girl,” Celia praises her, squeezing at her shoulders again, before she goes off to find the poster with a smile upon her face. 

 

**Christopher-2007-2010**

 

“Books Christopher, are wicked, monstrous things and we must get rid of all of them at once,” Karen Lucas with her spotty complexion and slightly greasy long chestnut hair says, her piercing blue eyes ablaze with something as she topples every book from the bookshelf in the small, cramped living room in their house that’s on the Isle of Dogs. Known as the location for the Canary Wharf offices it has a mix of rich and poor rubbing up alongside one another and unfortunately Christopher and his mother feature in the latter category. 

 

Christopher, who has floppy hair the same colour of his mother’s with a few feathery bits of grey snuck in, pale blue eyes and who is small and thin for his four years sniffles now and doesn’t understand. Him trying to make sense of things isn’t helped either by the fact that baby Sophie-Christopher’s half-sister-is crying upstairs. She’d probably been doing so ever since Mummy had picked him up from school and left Sophie on her own. Christopher had heard their neighbour complaining about the baby’s cries the other day. Christopher doesn’t blame her for crying though, neither of them seem to have fathers and that hurts them sometimes-him in the sense that he only ever has Mummy to pick him up from school and Sophie in the sense that she doesn’t have an older male staring over her cot-but he wishes that she’d be quiet now. His hand hurts too from the way that Mummy had pulled him roughly home from school. Christopher hadn’t understood it. Usually that would be their special time together and before the baby was born they’d walked slowly and held hands gently. Christopher would tell his mother all about his day and she, looking down at him with a fond glow about her face, would sometimes tell him about her own. “But you told me you _love_ books,” he says, face all scrunched up as he stares at her. She even works in a place where books are made, which sounds entirely magical to him. 

 

She stops what she’s doing now, a couple of books still on the shelf that she’d been ransacking and looks at him, eyes transfixed. Christopher swallows. “I hate books and you should hate them too Christopher. We’ll be doing your room next.”

 

Christopher shakes his head and instinctively darts forwards to pick up some of the books that are on the floor. Karen intercepts him and the ones that he has already managed to pick up fall to the floor. Her hand goes to claw at his navy blue school jumper and he wriggles, feeling like he can barely breathe, beginning to cry. 

 

“You must be a good boy now Christopher. Do you understand? Because I’ve lost my job and I don’t need you causing me any trouble.”

 

_“I”-_

 

“They wouldn't let me back into work after the birth of your sister. Said I couldn't work at home and I-I couldn't leave her alone for that long”- his mother falls to her knees now and Christopher finds himself patting at her hair awkwardly like she’s sometimes done to him after a nightmare as she buries her head into his bony shoulder. She’s the one who’s crying, but she pulls her head back and tells him bravely, “Don’t worry Christopher we’ll have money.” She pushes her head into his shoulder once more. 

 

“I'm not worried Mummy.” He pats at her hair. 

 

But things get worse from that point on. Mummy does get some money that’s true, enough for beans and bread, though she won’t buy alphabet spaghetti any more like she used to. Nor must Christopher let her catch him reading anything. He’d rescued a sticker book of his and managed to slide it underneath his bed when Mummy wasn’t looking. He tries to get stickers from the corner shop some days, but it’s difficult to because Mummy’s with him most of the time and he doesn’t have much money. He can still use the school library for other books, but she’d found him in his room one night after she’d finished tending to the baby. He’d been trying to sound the words out by himself, finger following each one and she’d ripped the book from his hands and let it drop to the floor. The cover had been torn and he’d had to sellotape it back up again, but school had still gotten mad with him. She’d shouted at him for what had felt like hours. She’d been drinking he’d sensed. She’d never used to this much. He didn't know what was in those bottles, but whatever it was affected her as if she were in _‘Alice in Wonderland.’_ Yet instead of making her shrink they made her mean instead. He also hears her with strangers sometimes-men-and he doesn’t like the noises that they make. The baby doesn’t seem to like them either, for she always cries and Christopher is the only one who goes to her, tending to her the best he can. She saves all her best smiles for him. 

 

He’s with Sophie one night when the noises are occurring and he’s six now, but something is off. She doesn’t want to be picked up by him, which she always does and she seems hot, uncomfortable. Christopher draws the back of his hand quickly away from her after touching her forehead. She flops her hands about and Christopher notices that there appears to be some sort of red rash upon her skin. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows that something’s wrong. His eyes flick anxiously between Sophie and the wall where the noise is coming from. They seem to be getting louder now, but he makes up his mind. He moves away from Sophie, out of the room and stands in front of his mother’s bedroom door. He considers just shouting something for a moment, not particularly wanting to go in there, but he finds that his curious fingers push the door open anyway. 

 

His eyes pop. Mummy appears to be riding the man on top of the bed and she’s not wearing anything. Neither of them are. 

 

“God’s sake Christopher.” Karen is cross now. She clambers off the man whose dark blond hair is sweaty and puts on her dressing gown quickly, pushing her son out of the room. “What are you doing coming in here like that? Haven’t I told you not to interfere?” 

 

“Mummy I think Sophie’s sick,” Christopher says, shifting from one foot to the other now. 

 

There’s a flaring of something in Karen’s eyes and then she’s pushing him aside once more and hurrying into the baby’s room. Christopher hears the fear in her voice, “Hospital. We need to get her to hospital!” 

 

*

 

Sophie dies just a few hours later. They’re told in a private room and Christopher doesn’t remember exactly how they are told or the words that are used. He just picks up on the fact that his mother starts to cry very loudly and that she even seems to think it’s all her fault, which makes very little sense to him. That and the fact that he senses everything’s going to be different now. 

 

*

 

Christopher doesn’t hear much from his mother in the days that follow. He’d caught the rather resentful look that she’d given him, before she’d started drinking from one of those bottles again and Christopher had gone upstairs to escape whatever effect they’d have on her that night. 

 

*

 

He’s in his room now, trying to do the same even though it’s the middle of the day on a Sunday and not the middle of the night. He’s trying to read a book that he’d gotten from school. It’s a little bit more difficult than the ones that he usually gets, but he has more peace now, which he guesses is something. He wishes that Mummy would help him with it like she’d used to before the baby had been born all that time ago and everything had started to go wrong, but at least there are no strange noises coming from her room now nor strange men lurking about. He’d liked Sophie and he feels a little bit sad because he understands that she won’t ever be coming back, but he doesn’t miss her crying. That had always made his stomach scrunch up in knots and when he hadn’t been able to appease her on the times where she’d really wanted Mummy he’d felt like crying too. But maybe things will get better. Now that it’s just Mummy and him again. He’d thought that they’d made a good team in the first place and hadn’t understood why there needed to be a new baby. He knows though when his bedroom door gets flung open again and Mummy’s standing there, hair frizzier, alcohol in hand and by the way that her eyes latch onto his book that, that might not be the case. 

 

“What have I told you about _books?”_ she hisses, taking two profound steps towards him. 

 

Christopher clutches the book to his chest and the fear reaches a neutral level in the room, before it spikes once more when they hear a precise rapping upon the door. 

 

Karen waves a hand at him, before she turns. Slowly, and wanting to make sure that it’s not one of those men again, Christopher follows. He remains at the corner of the stairs, whilst she goes down them all, but when he peers around he sees a silhouette through the frosted glass of the front door. A tall, spectral figure who wears a bowler hat and carries an umbrella stands there. He sees a glimpse of a pinstripe suit as the door opens, before he pulls his head back once more. He hears something about ‘Social Services,’ and though he doesn’t know what that is he senses it’s nothing good. The words, ‘received complaints,’ and, ‘wanted to check on you after the recent death in your family,’ don’t do anything to reassure him either. 

 

“You have another child, is that right?” the man asks in a pompous tone. 

 

“Christopher,” Karen says shortly. 

 

“Where is Christopher now?”

 

There’s some hesitation, before Karen calls at Christopher to come downstairs. Christopher falters even longer, before he peers owlishly around the corner of the stairs. 

 

“Christopher come down,” Karen pleads and Christopher is reminded of her ‘good boy’ comment all those years ago. Slowly he takes a tentative step forward, so that he is stood properly at the top of the stairs. 

 

“Hello young man,” the man says. He’s put his umbrella aside and has curved eyebrows, a dark shock of swept back hair and a hooked nose. He looks like one of the birds in Christopher’s books-a vulture that’s anticipating its next feast. Christopher nods, finding that he can’t speak. His body takes him the rest of the way. He feels like he’s lost in some sort of dream. The man surveys him. “How old are you then?” 

 

“He’s six,” Karen responds for him dryly. 

 

“Hmm.” The man consults some notes in a little black book that he draws out from his pocket. It’s possible he needs glasses for he squints at it for a moment. “Seems a little malnourished for his age.”

 

“He’s fine,” Karen gets out defensively. 

 

“How’s school treating you?” the man asks, ignoring Karen. Christopher shrugs. 

 

“He likes to read,” Karen speaks for him, sounding choked by the memories of her past life and how far she’s unravelled since. 

 

 _“Christopher?”_ The man’s eyebrow rises. He crouches down. “You must be missing your sister of course?” Christopher can’t suddenly bear to look at him. He glances off to the side, eyes burning. Suddenly it is as if all the bad things that have happened in his life are only an inch away. 

 

“Of course he is,” Karen talks for him once more, “Christopher loved his sister.”

 

 _“Christopher?”_ The man straightens up with a frown. “My name’s Mr. Pillsbury and I think I’d like you to come with me for a little while, whilst”-

 

“Whilst you what? See if I'm an unfit mother is that it?” Karen sounds scared now as well as defensive and Christopher looks at his mother fearfully. 

 

“Just whilst some checks are done,” Mr. Pillsbury is gruff, “I'm sure we all want what’s best for the boy.”

 

“You’re not taking him away from me!” 

 

“I really think”-

 

“It’s not happening. _Christopher”-_ Karen turns towards her son-“Go to your room.” 

 

“Christopher go and wait outside for me please,” the man overrides her firmly. Christopher looks between them, lost. Eventually he moves closer to his mother, grasping onto her leg. She gives Mr. Pillsbury a look now as if to say that her son knows, which side his bread is buttered on. “Christopher I know that this must be confusing for you, but you need to go outside now,” the man persists. Christopher looks up at his mother for instruction. With a sigh she nods. He follows the man’s commands. 

 

It’s quite peaceful and calm outside at least. The sky is as blue as Christopher’s eyes and apart from the sound of the boisterous female twins two doors down kicking a football against a wall he can’t hear a thing. That is until Mr. Pillsbury steps outside with a bag of Christopher’s things and Karen starts screaming behind him. 

 

“You can’t take him! You _can’t!”_ she keeps on yelling, tears running down her face. 

 

 _“Mummy! Mummy!”_ Christopher finds his voice now, made distressed by her and he tries to reach for her, but Mr. Pillsbury pushes him towards the car easily with one hand, bundling him and his bag in there. He gets quickly in the driver’s seat himself, before he locks the car and Christopher presses his tiny hands against the glass, staring and staring at his distraught mother who runs after the car, before she can run no more. Little does he know it then, but that will be the last time he ever sees her. 

 

*

 

The children’s home is awful. Luckily Mr. Pillsbury had, had enough memory of his own childhood to look beneath Christopher’s bed and locate his sticker book. It is Christopher’s most prized possession even though it is far from being complete, but the other children have already stolen his favourite jumper and a pair of trainers from him, so who knows how long it will remain his? He sniffles and cries himself to sleep most nights. It is the memory of Mr. Pillsbury’s silhouette and his mother’s tear-stained face, which haunts his nightmares. He is quiet at the children’s home, eating as far away from the others as he can and he is quiet at school too. He’ll answer the register, but that is it. He won’t volunteer answers in class any more and whenever they try to make him read anything he gets a stomach ache. 

 

It’s one day in October 2010 when he’s now seven and in class like that, that the blonde haired and blue eyed Miss. Bailey, who has a thick smattering of freckles upon her nose and who is his teacher says, “We've got a surprise guest to help you all with your reading today. Isn't that great?” A moment later she opens the door to reveal a young woman _and,_ much to Christopher’s surprise, a dog that has a red coat on. It has white lettering upon it. They've never had a dog in class before. Lots of the other children get excited, making noises and some even stand up from their tables to see better. Christopher notices that the young woman looks nervous. “Now class, this is Nicola Smythe and her friend Dash.”

 

“Hi Nicola. Hi Dash,” the class chorus. Christopher doesn’t join in and Nicola notices the fact, but to his surprise, for he’d quite thought that he was the only one who didn't really talk, she doesn’t reply verbally either. Instead she points at one of the badges that Christopher now notices she has on her brown bag. The badge is yellow with letters in black that says, _‘Hello.’_ The others say things like, _‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘Please,’ ‘Thank you’_ and _‘Bye’_ in various colours.

 

“Can’t you speak?” Clarice, one of the noisier girls in the class asks. 

 

“Nicola has selective mutism, which means that she can’t speak to us all the time even if she wants to,” Miss. Bailey, whose been briefed on Nicola’s condition, says. 

 

“How’s she going to help us read then?” one of the boys asks disbelievingly. 

 

“Oh, I think you’ll be surprised,” Miss. Bailey says knowingly, before she adds now, “Nicola was recommended to us by another school that she’s been working in. She’s done good work there, so there’s no reason why she can’t do the same here.” She escorts Nicola, who looks embarrassed, and Dash into the empty classroom next door and individually the children all join them. In between carrying on with his worksheet Christopher notices that they all look happy and chatty when they come out again, but his teacher has deliberately left his turn to last. 

 

By the time he finally gets to go he’s had enough time to grow tense and he enters the room stiffly. 

 

“This is Christopher Lucas,” Miss. Bailey introduces him. 

 

Nicola points at the same badge as before. Christopher nods at her politely. 

 

“He doesn’t talk much either,” the teacher fills in, “His sister died not too long ago from meningitis. Unfortunately he had to be taken away from his mother who was struggling to cope with it all.” Christopher does not say that his mother had been struggling for a long time before that. “He hasn’t spoken much since then, so I don’t know how today’s reading is going to go.” He sits down next to a table that has been squashed together with another one, which Nicola and Dash are by and waits. “Why don’t you go and pick a book out Christopher?” the teacher asks him in a falsely cheerful tone, indicating to the bookshelf that arcs around the back of the room. Christopher shakes his head, eyes on the table. 

 

Nicola, feeling like she’s got a kindred spirit by her more than a troublemaker, taps at the fur just above Dash’s collar twice. He goes towards a bookshelf, before he points at a certain book with his nose. The teacher coos affectionately. When Nicola goes to pick the book out she would have laughed if she hadn’t still been feeling somewhat uncomfortable, as the book is one about a dog who looks uncannily like Dash. Christopher notices too and a quick burst of laughter escapes him, all foreign and strange, before he closes his mouth once more. Miss. Bailey looks astonished. When Nicola places the book in his hands though he just stares at it for a long time, before he shakes his head. Not even Nicola giving him enough space by not staring at him constantly and turning her expression into her best encouraging one when he should look at her or the fact that Dash sits close enough for Christopher to be able to comb his fingers through the dog’s hair helps all that much. 

 

Nicola gets out her phone after a while and taps something into it. At first Christopher feels embarrassed and like he is wasting her time, but a moment later the text-to-speech device on her phone suggests, _‘Perhaps you’d like to play with Dash instead Christopher? He’s got a tennis ball with your name on it.’_

 

Christopher feels surprised that she’d been composing a message for him. He’s not really used to people making an effort so that he feels included. There are too many children at the children’s home and his mother hadn’t had time to do that in the end either. Whilst Miss. Bailey just seems so despairing and has stopped trying so hard to talk to him in class. He senses that this is difficult for Nicola too so he nods. 

 

Miss. Bailey looks impressed now. “Please tell me you have your own children,” she says to Nicola as the young woman rises. Nicola shakes her head, her face feeling warm. “Well, you’re going to make a good mother to someone one day.”

 

Christopher leads the way out of the classroom, Dash now by his side. Christopher takes a little pleasure from the other children wondering what’s going on when he, Nicola and Dash all slowly troop outside after Christopher’s got his red coat on. 

 

Nicola pulls out a yellow and orange tennis ball from her soft brown bag, which reminds her of the one she’d used to have as a child and taken on the adventures that she’d gone with Kammy on. It looks to Christopher like it has a multitude of things inside it-he can’t know that it contains a lot of Dash’s things as well as Nicola’s, Dash’s treats, lead, poo bags, a ‘Y’ shaped plastic toy, Nicola’s keys, hand wipes because she gets quite dry skin, handkerchiefs, spare badges that have words on, Nicola’s diary and a timetable of all her work with the schools, her mobile phone, contact numbers, pens, shopping lists, broken bits of pencil, crayons and scraps of paper-and when she offers the ball to him he takes it unsurely. Dash does a little trot in excitement and Nicola gestures with a nod that Christopher should throw it for him once they get away from the concrete of the playground and have passed through the gates into the attached playing field. 

 

Christopher does so and is delighted when Dash brings it back to him. They repeat this process again and again until Dash has his tongue lolling out. 

 

“I think that’s enough for now,” Nicola manages to say, a sparkle in her eyes as she watches the interaction between Christopher and Dash. Anyone who takes to Dash so well is a friend of hers. 

 

Christopher looks at her in surprise. Nicola pinkens, swinging her arms a little robotically to her sides and feeling awkward like she always does when someone new hears her speak. When Dash makes a noise though, as if to say that everything is all right in the world now that his mistress is relaxed and talking once more, Christopher smiles, liking the pair. 

 

*

 

Christopher holds the book again on Nicola’s next visit and tentatively opens it the time after that, though as soon as he does so he flings the book shut and hurriedly throws it aside again. 

 

Miss. Bailey tells him off sternly and Christopher looks at Nicola worried that she might too, but though she has been made tense by the gesture she goes to pick up the book patiently and bring it back to him. Once she’s sat down again she tells him through her text-to-speech, _‘Christopher do you know what my dad once told me?’_ Christopher shakes his head. _‘He told me that books are magic portals into different lands and that as long as I respected them then they’d be my friends.’_

 

“M-Mummy said that books are horrible.” Christopher looks at the table, not knowing what to think. Dash emits a soft whine as if what the boy’s just said couldn't be any further from the truth. 

 

 _‘Why don’t you decide?’_ Nicola pushes the book more firmly in front of him. 

 

Christopher scrunches up his face and stares at the cover hard. “ ‘T-The D-O-G’s Adventure,’” he reads, _“ ‘The Dog’s Adventure.’”_ He looks up, pleased with himself now and Nicola feels a pull of familiarity inside her chest. The glow that Christopher has on his face is reminiscent to how she internally feels every time that she successfully manages to get her words out, especially if they’re important ones. Dash lets out a sound as if he’s impressed now and the look of delight on Christopher’s face just grows. 

 

“Oh wow Christopher! That’s wonderful,” Miss. Bailey gushes. “That definitely deserves a gold star. I’ll place one in your workbook for you once you get back to class. I’d give one to you too if you had one.” She winks at Nicola. 

 

Nicola feels a bit awkward by her over the top reaction and so too does Christopher. He feels sadder than anything else though because it is only him who will be able to appreciate the gold star. He doesn’t have any parents to show it to. He quickly smiles again though when Dash nudges and licks at his hand, so does Nicola. 

 

* 

 

Nicola’s on her way back from the school when Mycroft accosts her just as she’s rounding the corner into Baker Street. 

 

“Ah Nicola,” he says once she’s given him a rather steely gaze of acknowledgement. “I was hoping that you might have thought more about what I said before and found it in your heart to send me a few texts about Sherlock’s behaviour. Unfortunately my Inbox finds itself rather devoid of your number. Did you happen to lose mine?” 

 

He’s wearing a dark suit with a yellow tie and she can’t help but notice that he looks rather good in it, but she feels annoyed by his sudden appearance and the idea that she’d be doing what he’d suggested even after how their first meeting had spiralled. She’s had people thinking that they've correctly guessed her abilities and who she is her entire life. _I didn't, but in any case you’re not my handler. You don’t get to tell me what to do even if you might be the British Government._

 

“I merely occupy a minor position and I believe that your mind is still on the word, _‘blackmail’_ my dear.” 

 

 _Don’t tell me what my mind is still on,_ she texts. Dash too is irritated at this posh human delaying the final part of their journey. He’s looking forward to having some water when they get back to 221C. _But yes, since you bring the subject up I don’t exactly appreciate what you tried to do before._

 

“I was merely going to ask you to keep an eye on my brother and to inform me of anything that might… _concern_ you or which you thought I might find interesting.” 

 

She raises a sceptical eyebrow at that. _And pay me for it, which suggests that even_ you _know that there’s something not right in what you’re asking me to do here._

 

“Just looking out for your bank balance my dear.” 

 

 _Sherlock’s my friend. I’ll look out for him because of that, not because you tell me to or for any other reason. I’ll do it for free because that’s what a good friend does. And don’t call me ‘my dear.’ I'm not yours,_ she sends. 

 

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “Gosh, first my brother inspired such loyalty in John and now in you. It’s as if he’s collecting a pack of dogs.” Both Nicola and Dash bristle indignantly at that comment. “What is it about him that inspires such feelings in you?”

 

 _Just remember that dogs bite Mr. Holmes,_ is what Nicola sends, ignoring his question altogether, before she moves on her way again and wishes that the door to 221B could jump forwards by a few places, so that Dash and her could hurry inside there and shut Mycroft out. 

 

To her chagrin Mycroft persists in following after her. “I wasn’t telling you to look out for my brother for any sinister reason,” he says as he hurries into position beside her, almost using his umbrella to ward off the other pedestrians, so that they don’t come too close to him. If Nicola could have snorted in that moment then she would have. There’s something so peculiar about him. “Perhaps I should make that clear. I feel that we've rather got off on the wrong foot,” Mycroft says, looking down at her with a furrowed brow. 

 

 _Why were you doing it then?_ she relents. 

 

“Because of my concern of course,” he says, as if such a thing should be obvious to her. 

 

She raises an eyebrow at that. Mycroft with his fancy suits and rather stern, uptight demeanour seems like the last person who would have a fit of brotherly compassion. _Your concern?_ she asks. 

 

“Yes.” Mycroft just about avoids walking headlong into a lamppost and again if Nicola wasn’t too busy trying to handle Dash, her phone, Mycroft, dodging everyone and keeping her eyes fixed on the door to 221B, which she can now see thank God then a spluttering laugh might have been able to come out of her lips. Her companion clears his throat prominently, as if he understands her amusement. “My brother is a more sensitive soul than the whirlwind he disguises himself as might convey.” She suddenly wonders if Mycroft is too, though she soon thinks that he would be more like a steady rock in a river trying not to crumble and let anything effect him than a whirlwind. “When he comes into contact with new people and takes to them as much as he seems to have done with you then I feel like it is my duty to make sure that they’ll be a positive influence on him. I can see from these past few months that you have affected him and I wish you would be more open about his behaviour in turn. If it’s any consolation to you then I wasn’t so sure about Dr. Watson either at first”-Nicola senses that he _still_ isn’t-“But I can’t deny that he seems to have offered assistance to my brother and given him someone who he will finally listen to.” Regret fills his tone at that and she looks at him curiously. Perhaps he _is_ actually concerned after all? 

 

 _Well you don’t need to worry,_ she texts him, as they finally stop together outside 221B, _Nothing odd seems to have happened on any of Sherlock’s cases and I'm not going to do anything to harm Sherlock. Not intentionally anyway. I just want to be a good friend to him._

 

“Yes. The problem with that is that I think you might already have done some damage to him,” Mycroft says, touching at her arm now. Dash moves on the spot and then looks rather impatiently towards the door of 221B. Mycroft, eye on the dog, lets go of Nicola. Nicola’s heart meanwhile has started to beat very unevenly at Mycroft’s words. What can he mean? Has she done something inadvertently to hurt Sherlock? “When I first met Dr. Watson I informed him that because of the rapid turn in events in my brother and him not only moving in with one another, but solving cases together too that perhaps we could be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week. That of course did not transpire, but with you I am worried that it might well do given more time.” Her mouth opens at that now and Mycroft’s hand nearly touches at her arm again, before he thinks better of it from the low snarl that Dash emits. Instead Mycroft lowers his head in urgency. His voice is low as he continues, “Think about it yourself: since my brother has made himself known to you he has barely left you be. No matter how busy he is he has always tried to make time for you. You have become important to him Nicola.” 

 

 _That’s an exaggeration,_ she sends instinctively. But the more that she comes to think about it the more she knows that at least part of what Mycroft’s saying _is_ true. Though they live in close proximity to one another and could easily be expected to see each other at least once every day she’s spent a lot of time recently with Sherlock, whether it’s just him coming to her to apologize in his own funny way for being noisy or not. He’s been in her flat pretty much every night or she’s been with John and him in the 221B sitting room eating together. Or she’s been reading, whilst Sherlock’s been experimenting with his chemicals. Still, as all of that fades however and she just sees Mycroft’s urgent looking worried face in front of her once more she thinks that, that must just be an amplification of his concern. 

 

“I like to think that he’s closed himself off from such silly notions”-she wonders if Mycroft has for a moment, before she shakes herself out of that thought-“But I have to cover every angle no matter how fanciful they might seem,” Mycroft says. Nicola blinks; not knowing what to do since he still seems so determined to go down this path. “And if my brother might really be falling in love with you then it is more important than ever that you and I are in contact,” he informs her gravely now. “I need to know whether you intend to discuss what I have just said with him and if you are then I need to know exactly when you are going to do so. You will have to notify me of how he reacts, of every single detail. His body language, what he does with his hands because he has a tendency to destroy things when things go wrong, _everything._ If he is angry and should send you back to your flat then you need to inform me at once. John will have to be on hand to manage him and make sure that”-

 

She puts a quick hand on his arm now and nods at her phone. Mycroft waits for her to send him a message, swallowing impatiently and very nearly tapping his foot. 

 

_Mr. Holmes, I do not mean to disrespect you, but I think that you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Sherlock is probably just excited because I am a new presence in his life that puts up with him. I certainly know that I have been made happy because he does the same with me. We are friends and I can’t see it growing into anything more than that. I do not think he has those types of feelings for me. We barely know one another. I’ve only been living there a few months. All that said I couldn't have a conversation with him about all of this. I do not think that it would be appropriate._

 

“I really think that it might be best if you did so, before this gets out of hand any more and he runs away with his imagination. It might”-

 

 _I'm very sorry,_ she puts now, _But its been a long day and I need to get home, prepare for tomorrow._ Then, with that done she moves away from him and to the door of 221B. She lets herself in, in a fumbling fashion, _and,_ just as she’d wanted to do all along, closes the door in Mycroft’s face. It puzzles her when she feels guilty for doing so.


	2. Hope For Something More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft begins to discover that handling Nicola won't be as easy as he thought.

Nicola has barely turned around from the door, Dash’s lead loosely clasped in one of her hands, when Sherlock comes downstairs. 

 

“What did my brother want with you?” he asks her suspiciously. She finds, given what she has just discussed with Mycroft that it’s especially hard to look at Sherlock right now. In fact he might as well be a stranger to her. She shakes her head, ignoring his glimmering eyes. _“Nicola?”_ Sherlock looks after her anxiously when she hurries down the hallway with light, fleeting footsteps. Dash thinks it all a wonderful if puzzling game and trots beside her. He makes a grunting noise at Nicola’s jerking movements upon his lead. She releases a couple of loud breaths, lets herself into 221C with fumbling fingers and pulls Dash in after her. There she throws her back against the door for a moment and just listens. She hears Sherlock take a couple of steps towards the door and breathes a sigh of relief when he retreats. Dash eyes her curiously. 

 

“Good boy,” she murmurs. Then she realizes that she hasn’t taken off the coat that he wears at all the schools, so she does that now. She’ll put it in its usual spot later when Sherlock’s not lurking about.

 

*

 

“Nicola not joining us?” John asks, as Mrs. Hudson arrives to have dinner with him and Sherlock. The boys are eating off trays in their armchairs and she makes a space amongst Sherlock’s chemicals at the table to have her own. 

 

“So messy dear,” she scrunches her nose up absent-mindedly, before she answers John, “No, I tapped on her door and called a couple of times, but got no response. She’s definitely in isn’t she?” Mrs. Hudson looks worried now. “I thought I heard her pottering about with that dog of hers.” She knows that there will be hell to pay from Nicola’s parents if anything bad has happened to her.

 

“Yes, she’s in,” Sherlock reassures her now, “I saw her talking to my brother earlier actually. Think he might have said something to her. Though I don’t know what. She didn't seem to want to share it with me.” He looks put out. 

 

 _“Oh.”_ Mrs. Hudson seems surprised. She twists around, so that she can look back at them, putting a hand upon her hip, “I thought you might have said something to upset her.”

 

 _“Me?”_ Sherlock is indignant. “I like Nicola. No, it’s my brother. Of course it would be him.” 

 

“I know dear, but I just thought-well you can be a bit insensitive at times and since Mycroft isn’t usually here”- Mrs. Hudson lets out a nervous laugh. 

 

Sherlock frowns and John’s just about to open his mouth to see if he can rescue the situation when his phone buzzes with an incoming text. With some difficulty he tries to maintain the balance of the tray on his lap with one hand and get his phone out with the other. “Oh, it’s Nicola,” he says, once he’s finally done so. He glances at his respective companions, before his eyes dip down to his phone again. 

 

 _This might sound a bit weird, but has Sherlock ever had a boyfriend, girlfriend, anything like that John?_

 

John’s very glad that he’s swallowed his latest mouthful when he reads that and it must show on his face, for Sherlock asks him, “What is it? What does it say? If my brother’s upset her then why’s she telling you and not me about it? I know he’s an idiot. I don’t need to be protected from that fact.” He settles his tray down upon the floor. He’s still got a lot of his dinner left. 

 

“Ouch Sherlock, get off,” John says now, trying to hold his phone away from the consulting detective as Sherlock comes closer and inadvertently steps on his socked feet. In the end he has to hold his phone to his chest with one hand and get the tray onto the floor with the other. He stands up and hurries across to the landing. 

 

 _“John,”_ Sherlock insists, following out after him. “What is it? What’s wrong with Nicola? Why won’t she talk to me? What’s Mycroft said to her?” 

 

“I don’t know _what_ he’s said to her,” John says in a stressed fashion, before he adds, “She’s fine you dick,” when Sherlock does look genuinely worried. “I just need to reply to her message and then I’ll come back and eat my dinner, okay?” 

 

Sherlock looks at him for a moment, before he nods and retreats inside the sitting room. He’d rather Nicola would talk to him about it, but he supposes that at least she’s talking to John, which is better than nothing. Still, he gets out his own phone rather than go back to his dinner and texts Mycroft: **What were you saying to Nicola outside?**

 

 **I was merely commenting about the weather we've been having.** Sherlock can imagine his brother innocently putting up his hands. 

 

 **Mycroft?** If texts could growl then this one would. 

 

 **Oh, all right, you caught me,** Mycroft is nonchalant now, **I was merely seeing if she’d consider looking out for you again Sherlock. You should be pleased that you** have **so many friends. She wants to look out for you and she won’t even let me pay her for it.** He sniffs. 

 

 **Stay away from her Mycroft,** Sherlock is not convinced, especially as his brother’s returning his texts rather than starting a phone call like he usually would. There’s something not right there. 

 

John meanwhile lets out a breath of relief at Sherlock backing off and scrapes a hand through his hair, before he taps out: **Not as far as I know. Mrs. Hudson’s known him longer though, so you might be better off asking her.** He hesitates a moment now. **I might regret asking this, but** why **do you want to know?**

 

In her flat, sitting on the settee with Dash curled up at her feet, Nicola delays for a moment, before she just sends: _No reason._ She knows that John will know that she’s lying because let’s face it that attempt was a pathetic one and there was no covert way that she could think of asking him. In fact she half-expects there to be a knock on her door at any moment and for John to be stood there, all furrowed brow and serious blue eyes, ready to give her a talk about why she should _not_ be asking questions like that about one Sherlock Holmes. When no such thing occurs however she starts to think instead. It comes as no surprise really that John is just as taken aback by the thought of Sherlock with someone, as she had been earlier with Mycroft, and once more she can’t help but wonder if the eldest Holmes brother has just got his wires crossed. After all if Sherlock’s never been with anyone then she can’t see why he’d be with her-a person who has a mental illness and who struggles to get one sentence out. The both of them are different that’s true enough, but she’s not really sure if that’s adequate to forge a relationship on. More than that she’s not even sure if she would _want_ to be with him like that in the first place. Its been hard enough managing her condition and getting this far without going too over the top in her daydreams. It has been enough lately that Mrs. Hudson, John and Sherlock all accept her adequately to be her friend. But being in a relationship with one of them? Would that work? All she knows is that Sherlock’s become a good enough friend to her and she doesn’t want to jeopardize that. Doesn't want to have to move out again if things were to get awkward or if she went about this in the wrong way in the first place. It had taken enough courage for her to come here to begin with. She lets out a little anxious breath now, her body tense. Her hand moves automatically to Dash’s head as he sits up. 

 

 _How can you really be sure that Sherlock’s got feelings or is developing them for me?_ she sends to Mycroft, finally making use of his phone number. 

 

His response comes just a few moments later. **Good evening Nicola. It’s nice to finally hear from you voluntarily and to also know that you’re taking this matter seriously enough to be thinking about it in your own time.** She curses him, wanting him to just get on with it. **I will however ask you to use your own eyes instead of relying so much on mine.**

 

 _Listen._ She is angry with him. _I know this all may be so obvious to you since you’re a Holmes and everything, but you’ve only sprung this on me a short time ago. Has your brother even been with anyone? I asked John and he didn't seem to think that he had._

 

 **My brother has had no romantic attachments no,** Mycroft sends now and she can imagine him emitting a sniff wherever he is. She can’t know that he’s drinking scotch in the Diogenes Club and trying to smooth all the ruptures that have appeared on the floor of his mind palace after another heavy day of government and brotherly duty. **But I have to, as I said earlier, take every precaution. I would appreciate it if you did not involve John any further and kept this between us.**

 

She frowns. _There’s nothing wrong in me asking John,_ she sends him, _I know your brother’s safety is paramount to you or whatever, but we can trust John Watson. Anyway, I didn't tell him_ why _I was asking._ She wonders how it is that not long having escaped her somewhat overprotective parents she’s now run into a man who seems to be having the same issues. 

 

**Keep it that way. Also talk to my brother, but tell me when.**

 

 _I can’t talk to Sherlock right now,_ she protests. When she almost feels Mycroft’s irritation with her from there she adds, _Look, I need time to think about this,_ and, _quite honestly I think anyone would, so don’t blame it on my condition. I just want to observe him and be a bit more certain, before I say anything. I don’t want to ruin our friendship or have to move out._

 

 **Why on earth would you have to move out?**

 

 _Oh Mycroft you don’t know anything do you?_ When Mycroft still hasn’t graced her text with a reply a few minutes later she sends: _Just give me a bit more time. I will talk to him if I have to, and yes such a talk will stick to all of your instructions if you really think that they’ll be what’s best for Sherlock. I just need to figure everything out._

 

Nicola imagines Mycroft sighing and thinking that she’s a very annoying, stupid woman in that moment, but whatever’s going through his mind he never puts it in a text because he doesn’t respond. 

 

*

 

 _“Nicola,”_ John rushes to her as she’s coming out of her flat the following morning, Dash at her heels. They've been out for a walk and will be visiting another school this morning, before she’ll be doing some work at the library in the afternoon. She’d just popped back to give Dash some water and to put his red and white coat on-she hadn’t managed to put it away the previous night after all. Now she taps at the badge on her bag that says, _‘Hi’_ and John smiles at her. She then points at her watch to indicate that she’s got to be heading out soon. “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to say,” John lowers his tone now and she can tell that he feels anxious about being overheard by either Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock and that makes her feel worried too, “That if you’re-well”-he pulls back a little and rakes an awkward hand through his hair-“If you’ve got feelings for Sherlock”-

 

She begins to shake her head rapidly. It is far too early to be talking about such a thing. Her finger points automatically at the badge that says, _‘Bye.’_

 

John grabs at her arm, before Dash and she can make their quick escape. She shrinks back from him. “I just wanted to say not to expect _too_ much,” John says, looking apologetic for having startled her. “I don’t think Sherlock’s had any experiences like that, and you know how he is. I don’t think he’s had any _human_ experiences,” he jokes now, but Nicola’s face is perfectly still. “I don’t want you to be disappointed, but I just don’t think he’s that kind of guy y’know?” 

 

She nods; looking at the nip that he’s got on his neck from shaving instead of his eyes. Her cheeks heat up because she really doesn’t know what to make of what he’s just said. She just wishes that she had a badge that said, _‘I was only curious’_ on it. Curious because Sherlock’s been a good friend to her. Curious because could she really be with someone like that? Someone so wild and noisy? Whatever the case she feels that her mixed feelings are on show. Not even John, who is not the most perceptive of people at the best of times, could miss them. She attempts to nudge past him now and he takes a couple of hurried steps back. 

 

“Have a good day,” he calls hopefully after her. 

 

She nods, jerkily this time. It’s a relief to get out of the front door even though London’s very cold and grey today. But she hasn’t even made it to the bus stop when Mycroft’s beside her again. 

 

“Ah Nicola, I was hoping that I might be able to have a quick word with you?” 

 

Not in the mood to communicate with any humans today, but especially not ones whose names begin with ‘J’ or ‘M,’ before she’s even got her thoughts in order Nicola taps pointedly at the badge that says, _‘Bye,’_ on it as she marches doggedly on. Mycroft peers at it, just catching what it says. Dash makes a harrumphing sound as if he’s hoping that Mycroft won’t slow them both down again today. 

 

“Most charming of you, but we need to talk,” Mycroft persists. 

 

She wishes that she had a badge that said, _‘Try another time or preferably never,’_ on it. All she wants to do is get to the bus stop. She quickens her pace, nearly stumbling as her destination comes into view. 

 

“If this matter is going to take longer than I expected and hoped that it would,” Mycroft says now, and she’s pleased to hear that he sounds out of breath, “Then we need to arrange a suitable time for us to both meet up and discuss all of this.” Nicola gets out her phone and looks between him and it pointedly. “No. I'm afraid that will not do,” he says, “I meet up with Lestrade to discuss my brother’s cases and I'm afraid that since your relationship with my brother has crossed into previously unknown territory I am going to have to do the same with you.” 

 

The _‘previously unknown territory,’_ part of his words sends an image of herself to her, backpack on as she looks out across a vast, sandy desert, perhaps with Kammy by her side. But then she comes back to reality, shakes her head irritably and points more firmly at the badge that says, _‘Bye.’_

 

“Very well,” Mycroft says, walking swiftly beside her, “I can see that you’re set enough in your ways that you do not wish to be disturbed right now. I shall get in touch with you again.” He peels away from Nicola’s side and gets lost in the crowd, before she’s even had a chance to reply. 

 

*

 

The matter dogs Nicola as she sits on the bus, Dash’s lead wrapped loosely around her wrist, hands fidgeting. It stays with her as she enters the old school building, her heart pumping even though she’s been there before. Her head ducks every time that someone should come towards her. It stays with her even though she tries to smile at all the children who attempt to navigate around all the words the best that they can. The area for reading in this school has beanbags in it and Nicola leans back against them thoughtfully, hardly noticing as the teacher gives her a pointed look when a shy seven-year-old who sucks at her thumb actually manages to speak a bit louder, as if it really is all as easy as that for Nicola too. Whilst lunchtime sees her still wondering how best to handle the situation and most importantly Sherlock. She doesn’t want to do anything, which will upset him. Her phone rings just as she’s sat in the closest park to home after already having dropped Dash off. She’s on a quieter part of the winding path and close to a bin, not having wanted to eat lunch at home despite Mrs. Hudson’s invitation for her to. She’s just getting her empty sandwich wrapper together, before she’ll be heading off to the library. She feels a bit apprehensive at hearing the ringing of her phone. Will it be Mycroft reminding her of the situation all the more? Thankfully it’s her father. She accepts the call gratefully. 

 

“Hey sweetheart. Hope this isn’t a bad time. Are you at lunch right now?” 

 

“Mmmhmm.” That is the most she can manage when a couple arm in arm suddenly sweep a little too close to where she’s sitting and her stomach plunges. That could be Sherlock and her one day. Although to be fair she thinks that it would be more like her running after Sherlock and trying to keep up with him than them walking arm in arm. 

 

“Would you prefer to text instead?” her father tries to mask his concern. 

 

“No, it’s okay,” Nicola manages, her voice not much above a whisper. “I'm in the park right now. Going to the library later.”

 

“Everything all right Nic?” 

 

“Yeah Daddy. I think so,” she’s thoughtful. His stomach swoops from her calling him that, but he can detect that something’s off. That Nicola’s not quite being honest with him. 

 

“I’ll be here if you want to go over anything.” 

 

“Thanks Daddy. Love you.” Nicola disconnects the call. She’s just scrunched up the wrapper once more and gotten to her feet when her phone pings. She checks it awkwardly, moving the sandwich wrapper aside a bit rather than putting it down. 

 

 **The Penguin Café. 4pm.** It’s Mycroft. 

 

 _Penguin Café?_ She texts him back, feeling a bit amused. _Thought that would have been a bit too common for you?_

 

**You’re not the only one who has their problems with speech. ‘Penguin’ is the one word that my brother fails to say more than any other. Perhaps you should ask him about it some time?**

 

_I thought that you’d rather we didn't have anything in common, so that I can’t hurt him?_

 

 **Like I’ve said previously I think it’s a bit too late for that. Will you be there?**

 

 _Yes. All right. See you then._ ‘Just to get you off my back,’ is what she thinks. Perhaps she can go to bed easier that night and put all of this behind her. 

 

*

 

The library keeps her busy and then she pops back home again, before she goes out, Dash now coming with her. Luckily Sherlock and John are gone and neither of them are there to ask where she’s going or to follow her and see who she’s meeting with. She just tells Mrs. Hudson that she’s taking Dash to stretch his legs. She’s not quite sure if the woman believes her, but at least she has enough sense not to push the matter like the boys would have done. 

 

She takes a seat at one of the outside silver tables, lounging beneath the canopy with Dash stretched out protectively at her feet. Mycroft isn’t there yet. When a waitress arrives to take her order Nicola points at where _‘Cappuccino’_ is listed on the menu and the waitress quirks an eyebrow up at her, her fixed smile faltering. No doubt she thinks Nicola very strange. She’s almost grateful when Mycroft arrives, so that she doesn’t have a chance to dwell on just how awkward she is. He only apologizes for being late when Nicola looks as if she’s going to tap at her watch to point out the fact that it’s now quarter-past four. He shrugs off his coat and orders a coffee for himself. Dash looks at Nicola as if to ask, _‘That’s why we came out again? To meet him?’_ She pats at him placatingly, as if telling him to suck it up because she’s not enjoying this either. 

 

 _“Ah,”_ Mycroft says once he sits down, as if to say that they are here together and he is glad that it is so. Uncertain Nicola nods at him, eyes darting up to his. “Now, I wish you, by text since I'm guessing that will be the easier method, to tell exactly what Sherlock does when he is around you?” He already knows of course, but since another tactic seems to be needed he wishes her to be brutally honest with him, so that she might finally realize the importance of all this herself and they can both move on to monitor Sherlock more seriously instead of messing about like they have been of late. She tenses, instantly against the idea. Her fingers curl around the sides of her chair. She’s still in that same position when their drinks get delivered a moment later. Mycroft says, “Thank you,” whilst she just nods. Again the waitress gives her a strange look and Nicola feels bad for it. _“Now,”_ Mycroft says once his gaze goes back to her, “I hope that you’re not going to be stubborn here?” Nicola shrugs. He makes a harrumphing sound. 

 

 _Private,_ she sends. 

 

“Nothing can be private to me if it concerns the benefit of my brother’s well being. You understand?” Mycroft says now, taking the white lid off his coffee and drinking from the plastic brown cup. 

 

Nicola swallows and adds some sugar to her cappuccino with fumbling fingers. Finally, and at Mycroft’s raised eyebrow, her attention goes back to her phone again and she taps; _I don’t have any brothers or sisters myself, so perhaps I don’t. Understand that is. But surely you don’t need to know every little thing?_

 

She’s stalling and Mycroft knows that she is, but feels almost satisfied by the fact. She must have some inkling that he’s right. “Perhaps I do if you refuse to see the fact that what my brother feels for you could be more than friendship?” he tests. 

 

She feels like sighing. _Very well,_ she texts, before she has a bit of a think for a moment. _He knows that I don’t like loud or sudden sounds, just like you do, so a lot of times after he’s made them he comes down to my flat._

 

“If you could get to the details?” His head comes closer to hers now and her phone comes to rest down upon the table. 

 

She throws him an impatient look. _There he’ll either sit quietly._

 

“In what proximity to yourself?” Mycroft pushes for all he’s worth. 

 

 _As close as we are now,_ Nicola puts, hoping that he might both be put off the idea that his brother has any complicated feelings for her and that he might pick up a hint somewhere of how she doesn’t appreciate his intrusion into her space or any of his behaviour. 

 

To her satisfaction he moves his head away a little, but still sits close enough to see what she’s putting. “What else does he do?” he asks. 

 

 _Play the violin sometimes. But just in case you don’t know, and before you get carried away or anything, that’s a tool of manipulation. He does exactly the same thing after he annoys John. Plays his favourite music to calm him down._

 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Here Mycroft’s blue eyes meet Nicola’s. 

 

She hesitates. _His playing sends me to sleep,_ she puts, _Often I wake on the settee with a blanket wrapped around me and sometimes he’s kissed me on the forehead too, but that doesn’t mean-_

 

Mycroft’s hand slaps over Nicola’s phone, before she can type any more. She looks at him indignantly, but he hopes that the point has finally hit home at last. “That would certainly count as evidence towards him feeling more than friendship for you, wouldn't you say?” 

 

Nicola shrugs. Mycroft looks at her as if she’s being most ridiculous and she avoids his gaze. After she re-claims her phone from him, she taps, _Oh, by the way John doesn’t know about your involvement, but he now seems to think that I have feelings for Sherlock and I completely blame you for that by the way._

 

 _“Me?_ I didn't make you ask any of your stupid questions,” Mycroft says when he sees what she’s put. He seems affronted now, as if he is a complete innocent party in all of this. 

 

She raises an eyebrow at him. _I wouldn't be in any of this mess if it weren’t for you. John told me this morning not to be too disappointed if Sherlock doesn’t feel the same. It was excruciating._

 

“Ah, yes,” Mycroft says, as if she’s just reminded him of something, “I meant to ask. What exactly _are_ your feelings towards my brother?” It’s important to know this. As he lifts his cup he sips at the liquid, but his eyes remain firmly upon her. 

 

She quickly points at the badge that says, _‘Bye,’_ and stands up, wanting to make a fast exit. Before she can though Mycroft’s hand slams over hers upon the table like a predator pinning its prey to the ground. It seems to hurt him more than it does Nicola though, for he winces and retracts it quickly, wondering about the sharp and keen sting he’d felt like that of a bee. Nicola’s eyes flare with something. She’d felt the electricity too. For a moment they both just consider one another. She is a curious woman, Mycroft thinks, to have got his body reacting in such a way. To have had such an effect on his brother too. Very curious. A flush creeps across the middle of Nicola’s face. As soon as she gets herself together she snatches her phone off the table and frantically taps, _Not that it’s any of your business Mycroft, but I thought I knew. I thought Sherlock was my friend and I was happy and that was more than enough for me, but then you came along yesterday and I don’t know anything any more._

 

“That sounds like an admission to me,” Mycroft says once he’s read it, still feeling a little strange.

 

Nicola folds her arms, feeling cold suddenly. For a moment she just stares through the café window. She barely sees the slightly blurry figures of patrons through it, as the slight breeze tickles at the hairs upon the back of her neck. Could she really be in love with Sherlock and he in love with her? Is what she feels towards him _really_ love? None the wiser she puts, _Well, I suppose if it’s true then there are worse people that I could be in love with._ Mycroft’s eyebrows go even higher now, as if to say, ‘Have you even met my brother? Can we really be talking about the one and the same Sherlock?’ _He’s been kind to me,_ Nicola puts defensively. 

 

“Do you fall in love with _everyone_ that’s kind to you?” Mycroft asks and she feels suddenly annoyed with him for constantly pushing. At least his brother _tries_ in his own way. 

 

 _No, but then again I don’t know why you’re so worried about this Mycroft. It’s not like Sherlock’s going to be interested in me of all people. I’ve got mental health problems._ She holds her phone close to Mycroft for a moment, before she nearly whips it against his jaw as she pulls it back from him again. She shoots him a look, as if he should have enough evidence to stop questioning her now and then makes to move away. Dash trots after her and looks glad to be on his way. 

 

She hasn’t gone more than two steps however when Mycroft says, “It hasn’t harmed John.” Slowly at his words Nicola wheels around again, absent-mindedly shifting when Dash’s lead gets tangled up around her legs. “The fact that he suffers from PTSD hasn’t seemed to do any harm for him in Sherlock’s eyes. In fact I think you could quite confidently state that Dr. John Watson is my brother’s closest friend. Closest _male_ friend I should say,” Mycroft adds now with a soft smile about his face. He doesn’t know why he’s encouraging the matter. It would be far easier if Sherlock and this woman stayed apart. Perhaps it had been seeing her look so disparaging right now? Or perhaps it is the fact that aside from having her guard up and what her presence could inadvertently lead to Sherlock remembering she seems like she wouldn't do anything to deliberately harm his brother. 

 

Nicola doesn’t know what to do. All she knows is that she feels a sudden surge of happiness in that moment for him not letting this new found hope of her actually managing to be with someone die. Feels grateful for him not giving up, even if this is about the possibility of her having a relationship with his brother. She texts him the words, _‘Thank you,’_ and is gone by the time that he’s finished looking up from them. Mycroft stares back down at the two words. For some reason they make him frown and feel an uncomfortable ache inside his chest, which he tries to release through letting out a sigh. It doesn’t budge. He stares at the words again, trying to decipher the odd patterns of his heart.


	3. The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's loose lips cause havoc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. :)

It’s odd, or perhaps not that strange really considering what she’s just been told, but as soon as Nicola gets home that day she goes up to 221B rather than to her own flat. She can’t help but smile more than she normally does. 

 

Sherlock is sitting on his chair, his hands in a prayer position, but they come undone when he reads that there’s something different about her. He leans forwards ever so slightly, tilting his head, his eyes at a squint. John, sitting by the table with his laptop on, just looks glad that Nicola’s happy and not upset about what he’d told her earlier. 

 

“You’re seeing someone,” Sherlock says, and John’s eyes go wide. He stares at her. 

 

Nicola comes to a stop now. She feels startled and a little threatened by his sudden announcement, but can’t help but feel happy again too when what Mycroft had said floats through her mind again. Still she points at her, _‘No,’_ badge a little jerkily. 

 

“Hmm.” Sherlock studies her even more. “The fact that you can’t be honest about it suggests that you think we’d disapprove of whoever it is.” He stares at Nicola deeply now. Her hands fidget as they tangle together and she can’t look at him. Dash goes to sit by the side of his favourite consulting detective and he too looks at Nicola, as if to say, _‘If you don’t tell them that we saw the creepy posh man again today than I will.’_ She shakes her head at him. Mycroft _really_ isn’t the point here. Sherlock’s eyes go up and down Nicola, before his mind flicks through his mental diary. “You visited a school today didn't you? And did some of your library work.” Nicola’s eyes flash now. She really hopes that Sherlock hasn’t been going through her diary again. It’s not that it contains sensitive material, but it feels like it’s something that should be private and her mind remembers Mycroft’s words now about how nothing is private to him if it affects his brother’s welfare. Suddenly everyone with the surname ‘Holmes’ feels annoying to her. Coming back to the present however she sees that Sherlock’s eyes are still on her intently. Nicola nods in response to his question. “Perhaps a teacher gave you his number then or perhaps someone’s been checking you out more than the books in the library?” Looking a little mischievous and then serious again because he does not want any harm to come to Nicola, Sherlock stands abruptly and approaches her, his back bent, head off to one side. He’s treating her like someone whose come to him with a case and it makes her feel even more silent and unable to speak than she would normally do. His eyes rake the entirety of Nicola’s body, as if he’s searching for a slip of paper that might be poking out of her pocket or something. She knows that she’s new to all of this, but she likes to think that if a man ever gave her his number then she’d have enough sense to get rid of any evidence and place him under a really boring name in her contacts list like the dentist or something to keep nosy cretins like Sherlock out. She waves her hands and shakes her head, gesturing that Sherlock won’t find anything on her. He doesn’t look like he’s about to give up however. She takes her phone out. 

 

 _Don’t go looking through my phone or anywhere else either. Not only will you not find anything, but I’d like for my things to remain private Sherlock. Even to your snooping eyes. For the record that means my diary too and don’t go telling me to keep something recorded for you, just so that you can pretend to look it up later._ She gives him a rather pointed look. Sherlock reads her text, but still looks unsatisfied by it. Nicola shrugs and decides to head off downstairs once more. Dash lets out a bit of an annoyed sound, which oddly reminds her of Mycroft, before he clambers to his feet and follows her. 

 

Unfortunately he’s not the only one to do so. _“Nicola?”_ John’s slightly breathless voice calls to her when she’s halfway downstairs. Dash is already at the bottom, having snuck past her. She looks back at the doctor. John comes down a couple more steps, his hand clutching onto the banister somewhat urgently, “You’re not really seeing someone are you?” 

 

Her eyes soften at the worry that’s in his tone and she shakes her head, before she does some more tapping on her phone. _I know what you said, but I don’t see why the situation between Sherlock and I has to have such a gloomy outlook. We’re both different and he’s been very accepting and kind to me. I think I'm just going to see what happens for now._ That will do for the time being. She doesn’t really know how she feels about Sherlock or he about her after all, but the truth is he’s made every effort to enable her to fit in and Dash adores him too. Whatever this is it’s like what she’d said to Mycroft before-there are worse people this could be about. 

 

John looks horrified, but Nicola barely glimpses sight of his expression, before she turns around again. Dash herds her into her flat. 

 

* 

 

Sherlock visits Nicola later when she’s just sitting on the settee watching some TV. She switches it off when he comes and tries to give him a faltering smile that he doesn’t return. Whilst she turns her head away with a frown, thinking about it, the pair of them just sit there in silence. There is barely an inch between them on the settee. Their thighs are nearly touching, but there’s an odd energy coming off him and Nicola, as inexperienced as she is, doesn’t believe that it’s love. More like he’s indignant about something and trying not to be, but just can’t help it. Losing the battle he folds his arms. 

 

“John knows who you’re seeing doesn’t he? I asked him and he said that he didn't, but there’s no other reason why he would have gone after you like he did earlier. First Mycroft annoyed you, which is understandable, but you wouldn't even tell me about it and now today has occurred. I just wish that even if you don’t want to talk about what happened yesterday with me you could tell me about this Nicola.” He looks at her almost desperately now, the blue of his eyes swirling with this weird sort of fear and worry, his dark hair flopping over his forehead. She feels both frustrated with him for not understanding the situation and a little bit sad. She’d love to be able to diminish his anxieties in that moment and tell him that she’s actually started wondering about him _in_ that way and whether they’d be any good together, but she can’t. Her brain can’t send the right signal to her voice to tell her that’s what she ought to do. 

 

Frustrated with herself now she gets out her phone. _I'm not seeing anyone Sherlock._ Sherlock scowls down at his phone. Nicola can tell that he doesn’t believe her. 

 

“You’ve talked to me before.” He releases a sigh. “Properly. You didn't need your phone then.” He gets up and leaves. The door slams behind him. Nicola feels disappointed. This definitely won’t help her get any closer to him. She has a feeling that he’ll be watching her all the more intently now until she can just come out with something. But she doesn’t know how to get the truth out about this. How can she explain that Sherlock’s older brother of all people has started to make her view Sherlock in a deeper light? One mention of Mycroft and Sherlock would probably lose the thread of conversation entirely even if she managed to get that far. There’s no way that she’d be able to leave Mycroft out of it either she knows because Sherlock would want to know everything and what exactly had made her feel that way about him, so that he could make sure that every inch of her feelings were genuine. He’s clearly delicate like Mycroft had said to be reacting in such a way. He’d want to make absolutely sure, before he committed himself she thinks. But how can she make him feel safe when she can’t even tell him what’s going on here? She’s already destroying things between them. She starts to feel more upset now and Dash, wearing a very sad expression, snuggles closer to her leg. She leans forwards and strokes at his fur, but feels suddenly hopeless. She doubts what Mycroft had told her earlier. All the hope he’d given her fades. Her fingers tremble against her phone. Dash lets out a soft whine and looks towards the door. Nicola can tell that he wants her to go out and seek comfort from her human friends and let them help her feel better, but she shakes her head. She can’t. Not about this. Dash’s eyes are big, brown and sad. Nicola gives him a wobbly smile, before she turns her attention back to her phone. _What you said earlier. I know that you probably just said it so I’d stay on board and keep you up to date with everything, but do you really believe that Sherlock sees me in that way?_

 

When Mycroft’s text comes through she really thinks that she should set a sigh to warn her of his incoming messages. **Would I really be bothering with such nuisances if I didn't?** he asks. **It might come as a surprise to you, but I am hardly up for Matchmaker of the Year. I will beg you not to be so emotional about the situation. It is in my interest to make sure that you remain balanced, yes-** Nicola feels annoyed- **so that Sherlock can hopefully remain the same. He might go off course again if he were to become unduly worried about you.**

 

 _Off course?_ Mycroft doesn’t reply straight away. _You might want to expand on why you have so much brotherly concern for him?_

 

 **My brother, Miss Smythe, has a recurring drug problem.** Her eyes widen at that, but when she thinks about it, it’s not actually that surprising that someone who throws strops and shoots at the wall would also turn to drugs when they get bored. **I hope that doesn’t dim the sparkling light that he’s become in your eyes?** Mycroft’s sarcasm practically drips off his text. She even wipes her hands on her trousers, worried that they’ll become contaminated by it. 

 

 _I know you don’t get it, but you could at least try and do this without being so sardonic. You do_ want _Sherlock to be happy don’t you?_

 

 **Why do you think I'm doing all this?**

 

 _To become Matchmaker of the Year?_ she quips. 

 

 **How charming. We’re sharing jokes now. In all seriousness though I expect to be meeting up with you in the coming week. Then you will tell me about any developments between Sherlock and yourself and you will keep me informed if anything alarming should happen before then.**

 

 _Alarming?_

 

**Yes,** he puts, **If you should, for instance tell Sherlock about how you feel without my permission early or if you should engage in any conversation that makes him emotionally unstable.**

 

 _You make him sound like one of the chemicals he likes experimenting with._ Mycroft grows very quiet now in his head. _But if you want me to notify you of things like that then I think I just did something that you won’t approve of._

 

Mycroft nearly phones her, so that he can listen to every quiver and octave of her voice as she explains everything in more detail to him. Then he remembers of course about her condition and the fact that it’s easier for her to text. **What??** he sends instead. 

 

 _Two question marks for urgency. I’ll have to remember that. All right then._ She stalls now and can picture Mycroft rolling his eyes. _Well now because I got John involved, which was a stupid thing to do I admit, Sherlock thinks I'm seeing someone and that John knows who it is. Your brother went off in a bit of a mood._

 

 **I need to make a phone call.**

 

_He’s fine! He’s upstairs with John and I'm sure that he’s fine!_

 

**Why are you still texting me? If you know what’s good for you Miss. Smythe then you will not bother me again for the rest of the night. Inform me if you have any more run-ins with Sherlock or spot anything worrying.**

 

 _So I can text you again tonight, but only if it’s something to do with your brother?_ she puts. 

 

 **Yes, no more emotional waffling.**

 

 _If you mention hormones-_

 

 **The word never even occurred to me.**

 

_You’re a terrible liar Mycroft Holmes._

 

 **And you seem to have a great knack for upsetting my brother.**

 

_Not deliberately!_

 

**Hush now or I will be using the ‘H’ word.**

 

 _Don’t you dare! I know I can’t speak all the time, but I can still send you some abusive text messages._

 

 **I know some people.**

 

 _I'm sure that you do. Now go and phone John, but before you do I should probably just state that you do know that you could just send me upstairs to check your brother’s okay don’t you? You know since we basically live together and all?_

 

 **Trust me, if you really lived with Sherlock you would not be as reasonably emotionally balanced as you are.**

 

 _Oh you do flatter me._

 

**Yes, but now I'm going to say something that you won’t like. Telling you to go upstairs right now would be like me throwing a grenade into that sitting room. You’d only make things worse.**

 

Belatedly she has to conclude that he’s probably right. _Fine. Go phone John then._ She nearly sulks at the fact that she can’t be more useful herself. 

 

**I appreciate your kind offer though and I’ll bear it in mind for when it might be more workable.**

 

She very nearly smiles at that. _Go!_ She takes it that he does so because he doesn’t text her back. She puts her phone off to the side and realizes that she feels better. Realizes that she’d actually very nearly enjoyed a text conversation with Mycroft Holmes. She feels her forehead. She really mustn't be well if she’s having thoughts like that!

 

She hears a gunshot a moment later though and jumps. She hopes that, that hadn’t been Sherlock trying to shoot John’s phone as the latter had spoken to Mycroft, but she strongly suspects that it had been. 

 

 **I think my brother is suffering from the ‘H’ word,** Mycroft sends some time later. **Try and be more careful with him in the future won’t you?**

 

 _You know I do my best._ She puts her phone off to the side again. 

 

*

 

Dash wakes Nicola by nudging at her hand. She jerks upwards from where she’d been slumped on the settee, feeling confused. There’s no blanket on her, which means that she’d fallen asleep without Sherlock’s influence. She remembers about everything. Dash’s head goes towards the door. She knows that gesture. It means that there’s someone waiting to come in. Nicola clambers into a standing position and brushes herself down, before she goes and answers it. 

 

Mrs. Hudson is standing there and she looks as pleased as ever to see her. “Oh Nicola it’s such good news!” Nicola feels puzzled now. “Sherlock just told me,” Mrs. Hudson lets out a bit of a laugh and pats playfully at her arm. “About you seeing someone.” Nicola’s stomach lurches. “He’s been trying to get who the lucky man is out of me, though I'm none the wiser of course. I can keep a secret though.” She pauses dramatically. “I don’t believe you’d tell John, Nicola and not me!” She laughs now like a fluttering owl bobbing about on its perch. “Whoever he is I'm glad that you’ve found someone dear. Just make sure that he treats you right that’s all.” Nicola nods dumbly and wishes suddenly that she had a badge that said, _‘I'm not seeing someone,’_ or _‘WTF? This is all in Sherlock’s head,’_ on it. She’d never expected to be in such a bizarre situation before. Mrs. Hudson makes to go back to her flat, but suddenly she turns around and asks, “What hair colour does he have?” Nicola stares at her. “Never mind dear,” she tuts, grasping at her arm, “You can write it down for me later. I won’t leave it lying around so that Sherlock will find it.” She winks.

 

Things only get worse a moment later however when she receives a phone call from her father. “Well, well,” is the first thing that he says and Nicola’s stomach sinks all the lower, “So that’s why you seemed to be in so much of a daydream state the other day.” There’s a twinkling mischief to his tone. 

 

Nicola doesn’t like it one bit. _“Daddy…”_ she manages to get out.

 

“You can text me all the details Nic. I know it’s a little bit awkward to talk to me about things like that, condition or no, but I’d like to meet him soon. I would have also preferred to hear it from you of course and not from one of your flatmates. Your mother’s on the roof about it all, asking about what class he comes from and his job, but I just want to make sure that you’re happy.” 

 

She disconnects the call a moment later, retreats back into 221C and sends off a quick text, face worried. _Daddy that’s the thing though. I'm not seeing anyone. I'm guessing it was Sherlock who told you that, but he’s got things mixed up. I'm just trying to focus on my job and friends right now._

 

She receives a fond sounding text a moment later: **You don’t have to be so embarrassed Nic. I know I'm just your old man at the end of the day, but you can be honest with me. Just let me know that you’re happy.**

 

 _I'm happy without anyone like that in my life._

 

**Send him my regards Nic and tell him I want to meet him soon okay?**

 

Nicola just huffs out a breath and sends a text to Mycroft instead. _Sherlock’s been interrogating Mrs. Hudson about my supposed new romance. She just asked me about hair colour. He even told my parents and they are convinced now that I'm dating someone. I am not happy about this Mycroft._ Ironically he’s the only one who she can properly talk to about all this. 

 

 **All right. I’ll ask him to come around to my office this morning. Try and do damage control.** Perhaps even try and make Sherlock realize his own feelings to draw this all to a head sooner, Mycroft thinks, but doesn’t put. He needs to get a sense for how close Sherlock might be to going off the cliff edge of his memory after all and putting the suggestion of his younger brother being with Nicola out there might help him do that. Then he can figure out a better plan of handling it all. Of course in the very best scenario Nicola would have no effect on his brother’s memory at all… 

 

Only a moment later Nicola’s phone buzzes and she lets out a curse. At this rate she’s never going to get going. 

 

“Nicola? Nicola darling?” It’s her mother now and she sounds like she’s calling from abroad on a bad reception line, but the truth is that she’s never been one for technology. Nicola thinks that she must be out shopping and had used her mobile because she couldn't wait any longer to talk. Usually she’d be more confident on the landline. 

 

 _“Mother?”_ Her voice is a cracked whisper. 

 

“Oh good dear,” her mother sounds relieved that it _is_ her on the end of the line after all. There had been an incident once where she’d ended up phoning the baker instead of her friend and had already started a very long-winded conversation about getting rid of nose hair, before she’d even realized her mistake. “I was hoping to get a hold of you. It’s about all this _‘boyfriend’_ business of yours,” she says the word boyfriend in nothing more than a murmur now, as if it’s truly quite scandalous. “Now Nicola dear how are we doing on class and career wise? If he’s at the bottom of the ladder then is there plenty of room for him to get to the top?” She sounds like she has a check list beside her and Nicola wouldn't be surprised if she has. “What about his name dear? I can’t believe you wouldn't even tell your father that, the pair of you being so close too.” Nicola feels a pang of guilt now, before she quickly shrugs it off. She’s got nothing to feel guilty about! None of this is even real. “Does he have a good, strong English name?” Nicola clicks off the phone at that point, too embarrassed by her mother to continue. To her misfortune there’s a knock upon the door. Turning around she answers it. It’s Sherlock and he looks wired. His hair is all a mess-the curls brush untidily against the collar of his purple shirt. His dark suit jacket seems to have been buttoned up clumsily. 

 

Nicola feels scared and hesitant, but she can’t help but say falteringly, “Y-You had no right to go saying things a-about me t-to everyone Sh-Sherlock! I’ll be lucky if I have a moment’s peace from my m-mother today.” 

 

 _“Case,”_ Sherlock is dismissive, not even looking at her, but at her collarbone and that’s what scares Nicola most of all. Feeling on edge now she swallows and then gestures that he should just take Dash. _“No,”_ Sherlock says suddenly, “You’re coming too. I might need extra help today since John’s working.”

 

“I got w-work too.” She feels a little thrown due to the sudden and unexpected change in her day. 

 

“Phone in sick then.” 

 

Nicola bites at her lip and then does text-to-speech because it’s simpler, _I can’t. Someone might see me with you and then they’d know that I wasn’t. I don’t want to let Celia down. She’s been kind to me._

 

Sherlock looks irritated. “Then just make up some excuse because I know one thing. You’re not going into work today and you’re not seeing that boyfriend of yours. You’re going to help me, or am I not good enough for you now that you’ve got yourself a lover?” He looks at her challengingly. She feels saddened by the disruption that’s already happening in their relationship. “Are you going to text in or not?” Sherlock says in a surly voice now that suggests that he doesn’t have all day.

 

She feels a prickle of irritation, but texts: _I'm very sorry, but I can’t come in today Celia. Family emergency._ It’s not exactly a lie. The misfits of 221B have definitely become like family to her. Perhaps when she next sees her boss in person she could tell Celia that Mrs. Hudson had to go into hospital because of her dodgy hip or something? For good measure she sends off a text to Mycroft too. _Going on a case with your brother,_ she puts. 

 

He responds almost instantly. **Yes. He said he was ‘too busy’ to come and visit me this morning although I distinctly got the impression that he’d only just become so. Keep me informed of any developments won’t you?** She nods absent-mindedly to herself, feeling confident by this point that he _does_ actually care about Sherlock after all and so she _will_ report to him. 

 

“Who’s that?” Sherlock asks, coming closer now. Nicola quickly switches her phone back to its home screen and shoves it inside her pocket. Then she looks at Sherlock with a shake of her head. He eyes her suspiciously. “Did you just tell your boyfriend that you’re going on a case with me?” She shakes her head again and begins to make her way out of her flat. “Is it someone I know?” Nicola shakes her head. The pair of them move out onto the pavement. Sherlock opens his mouth, but something about the look that Nicola’s giving him must make him change tack for he says, “The case you’ll be helping me on is a fire that happened in the early hours of this morning in a council house on the Isle of Dogs.” He hails down a taxi. The taxi driver pulls up and protests about the prospect of having Dash inside his cab. “I thought you’d be used to dogs by now. You must get plenty of them on Friday nights,” Sherlock quips and Nicola’s cheek gets poked out by her tongue in her amusement even though she’s still a bit annoyed with Sherlock. It’s good to be doing something so different though even if she doesn’t know what’s going to happen in her relationship with Sherlock. The consulting detective offers the driver extra money and soon they’re on their way again. “The police think that this morning’s fire might be linked to another one that happened last week in a corner shop just further down the way. We might have an arsonist on our hands. They want me to find out how everything might be linked.” 

 

Nicola nods, taking the information in. She assumes that Dash will come in useful in searching the house for any pieces of charred evidence. She has no idea what her purpose is though. Other than to be on hand for Sherlock’s interrogations about her supposed partner she doesn’t seem to have one. 

 

Once they get there Dash leaves the car first, then Nicola and Sherlock. Whilst Sherlock pays the driver Nicola looks around. 

 

A long strip of blue and white police tape has already been drawn around the house, blocking it off from the other properties on both sides who were lucky not to be effected themselves. The downstairs seems largely intact, but the upstairs is charred and black. There’s a gaping hole on one side where the roof and part of the wall had been. A small crowd that consists of nosy members of the public and local reporters have begun to gather and camera flashes go off as Sherlock and Nicola approach the scene with Dash. The flashes affect her eyes and she sticks close to Sherlock who helps Dash and her beneath the police tape. 

 

They’re close to the entrance of the house, the door of which has been removed, when Greg Lestrade suddenly appears in a blue body suit, his silver hair sticking slightly out of the hood. Nicola doesn’t think that she imagines it when Sherlock’s eyes go to her and feeling uncomfortable she tenses up. Her faltering gaze goes from Greg to him. 

 

“Hmm, no pupil dilation,” Sherlock says as he studies her, “But then again you might just not be finding his choice of attire all that seductive right now. There should be some evidence there though.”

 

Nicola knows in that moment that she’d been right. The only reason that Sherlock’s bought her along on this case _is_ so that he might be able to find out who she’s dating. She can’t know that he’d hacked into the CCTV of the library where she works the previous night once he’d calmed down a bit from his tantrum and finished telling Mycroft where to go, _or_ that he’d checked as much of the CCTV footage outside the schools where she volunteers in and not come up with anything, so he’d decided to look closer to home for now. He hasn’t ruled out John, but he’s decided to take a closer look at Greg first. He can deal with the possibility of it being John that evening. Nicola does know though that all of this leaves her feeling very annoyed. Her mood does soften when she sees Greg looking at her in utter confusion however. _‘Sorry,’_ she uses the text-to-speech on her phone, _‘Sherlock’s got it in his head that I'm dating someone and apparently you’re a suspect.’_

 

“Well, you do know each other from before,” Sherlock is casual. 

 

“Sherlock I was sixteen then!” Nicola manages to tell him indignantly. Sixteen and just having gone through the most terrifying night of her life. She’d hardly been checking out the police officers. 

 

“Well, it’s not that I wouldn't or anything,” Greg says, looking at her, “Now of course, not when you _were”-_ he gestures awkwardly with his hands-“But I’ve got a wife.” He makes the latter remark softly. 

 

“For now,” Sherlock says promptly. Nicola wishes that the ground would just swallow her up. 

 

“Anyway, shouldn't we be focusing on the case?” Greg says, trying to ignore what Sherlock had just told him. He makes to go back inside the house. “You’ll have to go straight off to the right and put one of these suits on. You might wanna stick some plastic bags around the dog’s feet, so that he doesn’t hurt his paws,” he tells Nicola. “This bit’s okay, but we’d quite like to get him up what’s left of the upstairs if we can.” 

 

She nods when he looks over his shoulder at her and Sherlock and her make to head for where he’d told them to. Inside the room stands a dark-skinned woman with frizzy hair and a bit of a pout upon her face with a man who has floppy dark hair and a very pale face. Both of them are in body suits already. “Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson,” Sherlock mutters and Nicola nods gratefully. 

 

“Hi, who are you?” Donovan asks. Nicola swallows and makes to answer her via her phone but, “Oh great. Another one who’s good at social cues,” the woman says before she can. 

 

Sherlock suddenly seems to grow about five inches. Hair wild and dangerous, pale cheeks a little flushed he lets out a bit of a growl as he moves in front of Donovan, blocking her from her Anderson’s view. “Nicola has selective mutism Sally. It is not a very nice or pleasant condition, so I suggest, _strongly_ suggest, that you re-think your wording and introduce yourself to her in a nicer manner.” Nicola’s eyes can’t help but shine as she hears the rumble of words leave his mouth. No one’s ever stood up for her like that before. Suddenly she sees him in an even deeper light. 

 

“Friend of yours is she?” Donovan asks. 

 

 _“Correct,”_ Sherlock says curtly, gazing at her out of stormy eyes. 

 

Donovan’s eyes roam to Nicola now. “Then you’re making a mistake being friends with this one.” Nicola would like to be able to hold her gaze, _but,_ finding it difficult to, looks off to the side of her. Sherlock makes an annoyed sound in his throat. “It’s bad enough that he’s got one devoted follower. It doesn’t have to be the same for you.” As she looks at Nicola, all serious eyes and down turned mouth Nicola can tell that she truly believes in what she’s saying, but it doesn’t stop her from disliking her. It’s not because she’s got dark skin, which would be her mother’s reason and Nicola almost cringes now as she imagines what her mother would say watching this scene. She’d probably state that it’s typical of someone of Donovan’s kind. Rather she dislikes Donovan because she’s telling her to stay away from the man who had just stood up for her like no one else ever has. Dash does all Nicola’s talking for her though. He pushes himself in front of her and lets out a deep, threatening growl. 

 

Donovan’s eyes go to him. She raises both her hands and eyebrows. 

 

“Is that thing dangerous?” Anderson asks. 

 

“Oh, he can be Anderson,” Sherlock says, turning to him. “I’ve seen him rip up a huge amount of meat and devour it within seconds.” This is a lie and Nicola feels pained by such words for a moment because she hates anyone thinking badly of Dash, but that soon disappears because Donovan and Anderson quickly sidestep out of the room. Nicola can’t help but feel a little breathless. 

 

“Listen to me,” Sherlock says, grabbing onto her shoulders now and turning her to face him. “Donovan and Anderson are idiots. They think that everyone’s strange apart from themselves and there is most certainly nothing wrong with you.” 

 

She nods, once more feeling enamoured with him because of his words, but finds it hard to truly believe in them and later on she is left feeling even more like a freak when Sherlock and one of the less annoying officers are upstairs with Dash. Between the pair of them they’d managed to get the dog over the broken staircase. Whilst they do that Nicola finds herself at the bottom of the stairs drinking some slightly cold coffee from a plastic cup and trying to ignore the persistent messages that she keeps getting from her mother urging her to phone her and tell her who she’s seeing. Greg stands next to her as she waits to see if anything will be found and she can feel this energy thrumming off him, as if he wants to ask her a question. 

 

Finally he does. _“So”-_ the detective rocks back and forth on his heels. She looks at him a little cautiously but his eyes don’t do the same to her-“Your condition, forgive me but I don’t quite understand it.” _‘Join the club,’_ is what Nicola thinks now. “You can talk sometimes and then other times you can’t. Is it only when you feel like talking that you can do so? It is called _selective_ mutism after all.” He attempts an impish grin. 

 

If Nicola could have released the world’s biggest sigh right then she would have. Instead she gets out her phone and uses the text-to-speech. _‘That’s a stupid name for it.’_ She doesn’t want to be mean, but she has to be honest all the same. _‘I can talk sometimes if I'm comfortable or if I'm really content with the person that I'm with. But this isn’t a choice for me. Talking, not talking. When I don’t talk it’s not from me not wanting to do so. I am trying. It’s not like I don’t have things that I’d like to say or don’t have thoughts running through my head. It’s just like I physically can’t talk. It’s not just something that I can grow out of or recover from. I haven’t been effected by a trauma or anything like that.’_

 

 _“Oh,”_ Greg says now, and he sounds a little taken aback and not sure of what to say. 

 

*

 

 _It’s not like I don’t know that he was just being curious. I know he didn't mean any harm by it, but he made me feel even more of a freak than Donovan and Anderson did,_ Nicola texts Mycroft once she’s explained the situation to him. She’d done so on the basis that he needed to know what had happened with Sherlock that day and completely missed the thoughtful daze and slightly alarmed glimmer that he’d fallen into for a moment upon having heard the case was a suspected arson. She hadn’t heard the way he’d worried in his mind about the case triggering something inside Sherlock about his past. She’d just ended up describing more of her own feelings to him. 

 

Mycroft shifts beside Nicola from where they’re sitting on a park bench together. He’d insisted that they meet so he could more of an idea of what had happened that day. Dash is stretched out by Nicola’s feet. He’s pretending to be dozing, but every now and again she catches one of his eyes opening and looking warily at Mycroft. “Is it because he should have known better do you think? The reason that you’re so upset about all of this?” Mycroft queries, still wondering about Sherlock and the arson. 

 

She nods. _Anderson and Donovan are ignorant. That’s all there is to it. But Greg…I dunno. I guess because Sherlock works with him and vice-versa I thought that he might be more educated or something? Plus he seemed really friendly when he came to my parents’ house before after we were burgled._

 

Her text takes him out of his thoughts. “As you know my brother has his Homeless Network. I don’t think educated people are necessarily what he goes for.” He starts to feel a bit better after making such a joke. It distracts him from his internal worry. 

 

 _Some people like that are clever. They just fell on hard times,_ Nicola sends him what she’s learnt from living in such close proximity to Sherlock, but she can’t help but smile because of what he’d just said. It’s odd, but she’s starting to feel more comfortable around Mycroft. 

 

“No, having done my research I can definitely tell you that, that’s not the case with the ones that Sherlock knows.” Mycroft looks suddenly both set in his opinion and mischievous and it makes Nicola’s smile grow all the more. He looks surprised that he could have made someone feel that way, but happy. _“So”-_ she ducks her head-“How _would_ you like people to treat you then?” 

 

She considers the question. _I guess,_ she finally texts, _I’d like them to treat me like I'm ‘normal.’ Whatever that is._

 

“Presumably you’d like to be able to talk more though?” 

 

 _I’d like to expand on the list of people I feel comfortable with and add to the number of places where I do too. But I know that some miraculous cure is never going to happen for me. I just want people to accept me for who I am. More than that to try and accept that speech isn’t the only way to communicate and not be so taken aback by the fact that I don’t always do it._

 

Mycroft thinks of something now. **Perhaps then it would be more appropriate for me to text you when you text me? It would make you feel more comfortable? Though I do like the sound of my own voice so I can’t always promise that I’ll do it that way.** She catches herself thinking that she likes the sound of his voice too, but feels happy about his suggestion. It’s probably her favourite one of his so far because he’s trying to make her fit in just like Sherlock had before. 

 

 _I’d like that._

 

There’s both an awkward verbal and non-verbal silence between them for a moment. Then Mycroft hurriedly texts: **Have you considered taking yourself off the case tomorrow to give yourself distance between what happened today?**

 

Nicola nods. _I’ve already told Sherlock that I won’t be joining him tomorrow. I'm due to go to the favourite school that I visit and there’s no way on earth that I’d let those children down._

 

**May I enquire as to what’s so special about that particular school?**

 

 _You may, and please don’t find this creepy or anything, but there’s a little boy in that school who has_ elective _mutism due to a traumatic event. When Dash and I visit although we try to make progress with his reading and he is actually, starting to do well again, we also go for a bit of a walk. He throws a toy for Dash. Dash makes him so happy. It makes me remember what a difference Dash has made to me and appreciate him all the more._

 

 **It doesn’t sound strange at all,** Mycroft begins to respond now, liking her passion, **And you’re absolutely correct. You cannot possibly work for Sherlock tomorrow. Dash and you are needed elsewhere and don’t let my little brother tell you otherwise.** Nicola smiles a bit when she receives that. **What?** Mycroft asks. 

 

 _Sorry. The fervency of that text reminded me of how Sherlock stood up for me today. You should have seen him._ Mycroft stares at her now. Nicola shakes her head in apology, just like her father who had said he knew she’d feel awkward about discussing her dating life with him she’s reminded that Mycroft probably finds the idea of his brother being with anyone just as weird. 

 

 **Was it enough to make you realize you’re in love with him?** Mycroft is cautious. Something scares him about Nicola’s pending answer. 

 

 _I think it was yes,_ Nicola sends, oblivious to the tightening of something on Mycroft’s face as he reads the words. He shifts his position again, uncomfortable about how they have made him feel-once more he gets the idea that he’s going to end up studying them for a long time. _Sorry, I realize that it’s probably a bit strange, the thought of your brother being with someone. I hope I'm not a let down as a potential prospect?_ Her heart flutters with nerves. She can never quite tell what Mycroft’s going to say. 

 

 **It is a little odd yes, and no it’s not you. I think I’d find it difficult to imagine anyone with him.**

 

 _Well, perhaps it’s a little bit early to be imagining such things. I think both Sherlock and I will need to take things slowly. If we do get together then I cannot see it happening overnight,_ she reassures him. 

 

**But you are sure that you want to be with him now? It’s him that you’re settled upon?**

 

 _Oh yes,_ she sends back happily, _I do think so. He’s so kind to me Mycroft, and good._ She cannot know that right at that moment Sherlock is in the middle of interrogating John about whether or not he’s in a relationship with her and being less than kind. Once more he won’t come up with anything that will help solve the mystery of Nicola’s boyfriend and will spend a great part of the night sulking. _He could have just let Donovan slaughter me today, but he intervened. Not many people would do that for me._

 

 _‘I would,’_ Mycroft thinks absent-mindedly as he looks at Nicola now. He does not know where the idea comes from. All he knows is that the more he gets to know her the less able he seems to stay focused and deal with the matter of Sherlock so directly. The more he gets distracted by her, or at least _wants_ to get distracted by her rather than worry about how the time where Sherlock will remember the truth about Eurus seems to be getting all the more closer. 

 

When Nicola realizes that Mycroft’s not making out a response to her she looks at him. He’s staring at her, _and,_ quickly feeling embarrassed by the way that his eyes seem to be trying to explore the depths of her very soul, Nicola ducks her head again. Mycroft sees her in that moment. She’s not worried about what she might inadvertently help Sherlock to remember because she doesn’t know. All she knows is that she might be on the cusp of starting a beautiful new relationship and he knows then, that as intriguing as he finds her and as interested in studying her as he’s becoming himself he’ll do anything to make sure that she is happy with his brother if that is what she wishes. She’s vulnerable just like everyone is, just like Sherlock is, just like _he_ is and God knows something good could do with happening. 

 

 _Sorry,_ she types. 

 

 **Whatever for?** Mycroft puts when he reads it.

 

 _It just occurred to me that this taking a long time means that we’re going to have to be in contact for a while. Maybe even indefinitely since you care about your brother so much. I realize that it must be adding extra hassle to your day?_

 

 **I don’t mind.** It is suddenly true he realizes. He does not mind talking to her or having to stay in contact with her. In fact he might be enjoying it a little. 

 

Nicola finds that she doesn’t mind either.


	4. Mistaken Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft sees Nicola in her element. Nicola gets a shock.

The following morning Nicola finds herself walking on the concrete playground of St. Martin’s Primary School towards the gate that leads to the playing field. Once more Christopher walks beside her, an orange and yellow tennis ball in his hand. His hair makes a rustling noise against the collar of his red coat and his pale blue eyes never leave Dash who is just ahead of them, off his lead for now. Nicola gets through the gate, closes it behind her and gestures that Christopher should start throwing the ball for Dash. Not that he needs much encouragement any more; he barely looks at her, before he starts doing so. Nicola feels rather content by the fact. Dash brings the ball back obediently and this pattern follows for a time until a spluttering laugh leaves Christopher’s lips as he gets too excited to contain it any more. As ever hearing any sound of delight coming from him and knowing that he’s happy makes Nicola smile. Christopher wraps his arms around Dash who drops the ball with a thunk onto the grass and lets his tongue loll out of the side of his mouth. When Christopher’s shining eyes turn towards Nicola she feels an unconstrained pull of affection for him. Turning her head and letting out a soft breath it is with some surprise that she sees none other than Mycroft Holmes with his hands on the gate, his umbrella leaning close by, watching Christopher and her from some distance. She turns to face him. He raises a hand in greeting and a wonky smile appears on Nicola’s face as she takes in the way that his dark coat flaps a little around him, revealing a slither of his dark suit, which looks nice with his burgundy tie and cream shirt. Some of the strands of his auburn hair blow in the breeze and his face is a little red in the cold. His blue eyes are like chinks of blue sky upon the horizon and though part of Nicola feels off guard in seeing him in this environment and a little tense too because has something happened? Part of her feels happy. Dash has quite a different outlook though. He pulls away from Christopher’s side and goes to hers instead, so that his head comes to be jutting out just past her. His ears are flat and back and his body is pointed directly towards Mycroft as if he’s questioning the man about his reason for being there. Christopher too startles when he sees Mycroft and Nicola feels an immediate concern when he comes to her side looking fretful, his eyes wide and bulging, finger pointing at Mycroft. The presence of the boy seems to stir up Dash’s emotions further and he does a little bounce on the spot, lunging forwards a couple of steps as he does so, before he emits a soft growl. Nicola can see even from this distance that Mycroft looks off put by such a thing and Christopher nestles close, putting a hand on her leg and whimpering, his head near by. 

 

“No, no, no. I’ve been good. I’ve been good,” Christopher squeals, not even seeming to realize that he’s doing such a thing. “Please don’t take me away again. _Please.”_

 

“Why would Mycroft Holmes take you away?” Nicola manages to get out in confusion, hand almost cupping at Christopher’s hair. 

 

Christopher’s eyes are nearly shut in panic, mind back on the day that he’d been separated from his mother, a silhouette so similar to the frame of the man in the distance visible through the frosted glass. He opens them slowly now. “My-croft?” he asks in question. 

 

“I didn't mean to upset you.” Mycroft is in front of them now and solemn. He crouches before Christopher and glances up at Nicola, as if he also wishes for her to understand such a thing. 

 

Nicola feels sympathy towards him. She knows that whatever reason he’s there for it hadn’t been to make a little boy cry as Christopher’s now doing-from relief at it not being that man after all. Christopher snuggles close to her and wanting to try to make things better for him Nicola peels him gently off her and indicates, through pointing at her eye, that he should watch what she’s about to do. Feeling a little anxious now because she would not ordinarily initiate such gestures, but knowing that she has to take the plunge for Christopher’s sake and so that he’ll realize that Mycroft is a friend, she leans forwards towards the older man quickly. 

 

Mycroft, comprehending at the last moment what Nicola is doing, catches her in his arms for a hug. Their bodies stiffen against each other’s, before they soften again, as if they’re recognizing one another and catching up with an old friend after years of being apart. It’s something that takes Nicola and Mycroft both by surprise, the sudden relaxing of the other against them, and it’s for that reason alone that Mycroft’s hands linger on Nicola’s back a fraction too long and grow tight and that her face is a little red when she finally pulls away once more. It’s not from the fact of how perfectly they’d seemed to fit together or because she’d been able to smell his woody cologne like cinnamon and amber mixed in and he’d been able to smell her apple shampoo. When she slides away from him again the action of it is easy, but the fact that there is suddenly space between them feels wrong. Mycroft looks at Nicola in confusion, all the computers in his mind palace having been powered down through his puzzlement because she’s meant to be with his brother and yet he feels all the more drawn to her. She looks at him in much the same way. She turns to Christopher again. _‘See? He’s my friend,’_ her face seems to say, but Christopher is still a little wary of this newcomer. What is the man there for? Could he still be there to take him away? Nicola seems to like him though so that’s something he knows. 

 

“I must be going,” Mycroft says, finding that the words come out of his mouth automatically. 

 

Nicola shakes her head, walks away and moves back through the gate. Christopher and Dash follow after her automatically, but Mycroft hesitates. It would be absurd to join them he knows. Nicola is trying to do good work and he probably shouldn't be there as it is. Especially after how oddly the boy had reacted. He doesn’t want to be the cause of Nicola’s work going astray. Yet as odd as it is he finds himself hurrying to catch up with them. Nicola smiles when he does so and her body seems to relax. 

 

Encouraged he opens the door for her and she nods in thanks, steering little Christopher inside after she makes sure that he’s okay again. Mycroft’s face softens watching her do that. It reminds him of himself with Sherlock and of how they used to be with one another. He thinks that he might be safe in that moment. That whatever should take place between Nicola and his brother he can rest assured that more firm and steady hands could not keep Sherlock’s heart. That all he has to worry about-and it’s a big thing he knows, but thank God for her making things a bit easier for him-is whether or not the process of love will make Sherlock remember about Eurus because Nicola will be delicate with his brother’s heart. That Nicola will be good for him. That she’d be good for anyone. His mind goes back to the embrace they’d just shared, but then Dash goes through as if Mycroft should always have held the door open for him. Mycroft, feeling suddenly irritated, looks down at the dog. He’d tap the beast’s bottom with the point of his umbrella if he weren’t so sure that it would turn Nicola against him. He needs to keep her on side of course because of Sherlock. It could not be because he wants to spend some more time with the beautiful woman himself. He hums absent-mindedly at the thought. Nicola turns her head and looks at him with a bit of a questioning smile upon her face. Dash growls. Mycroft waves his umbrella threateningly at the dog when Nicola’s not looking. Something glints in Dash’s eye as soon as he does that, as if to say, _‘Aha! I knew you didn't like me. Well, I won’t be letting you near my mistress now.’_ Mycroft scowls. His expression only just manages to change from being an ugly grimace to a quick, but tight smile when they all troop inside the classroom and Nicola holds the door open for him. What an odd group they all must make Mycroft doesn’t wonder. Nicola with the still shaken up boy, the wretched dog, and him just thinking how strange that he should find himself caught up in it all. “Mycroft Holmes. I work in the government,” he says automatically when the teacher looks his way and Nicola smiles a little at the obvious way that he does not want to get into trouble. Finally he comes up with the right words, “I know Nicola,” he says. 

 

_“Oh!_ For a moment I thought…” Miss. Bailey trails off now, her attention going to Christopher instead. 

 

Mycroft and Nicola both exchange a glance, not understanding. Christopher peels away from Nicola’s side now and makes his way to that of his teacher’s. Miss. Bailey notices the unsure gaze that he sends Mycroft and puts the pieces together quickly. She goes over to the drawer where Christopher’s workbook is kept with a bit of a frown upon her face. Once she’s pulled it out she returns to Mycroft and Nicola again. Flipping to the right page she says, “He gets these nightmares about someone coming to take him away sometimes.” Nicola’s face darkens now. She doesn’t like the idea of the little boy who becomes so happy, whilst playing with Dash, suffering. She’s tried not to think of his past too much before now and all that he might have been through. It only upsets her to do so, but it’s getting more and more difficult the longer she knows Christopher for her to just keep turning away. “They always look most official.” Miss. Bailey shows them the page in the book now. In its middle and over the pink lines Christopher has drawn a shadowy picture of a tall man who wears a bowler hat and who carries an umbrella. Nicola has to admit in her head that it does look a bit like Mycroft. “If he was afraid of you then this might have been why,” the teacher explains. 

 

“I assure you that I don’t mean him any harm,” Mycroft tells her, keen to make that point. “I’d heard about the good work that Nicola is doing here and wanted to come and see it for myself. I hope that’s not a problem?” 

 

“Not at all,” Miss. Bailey replies, happier, “It’s always good to have more people to help out. You’re most welcome here Mycroft.” Mycroft can’t help but feel warm inside. It’s not often that he gets such a reaction. 

 

“Are you Nicola’s boyfriend?” Clarice-the little chatterbox of the class-pipes up suddenly from where she’s sat cross-legged on the floor along with the other children as they wait their turn to read. 

 

Feeling a little embarrassed Nicola shakes her head. 

 

Mycroft looks at her. “No, I'm saddened to say that Nicola’s after my brother actually. She’s just using me so she knows how to go about it,” he does actually feel rueful about the fact, but covers it up quickly with a mischievous smile just moments later. 

 

Nicola shakes her head wildly. She can’t believe him! She’s never once asked him about how she might be able to go out with Sherlock. The children begin to laugh in delight and before she even knows what’s happening she’s doing so too. It becomes deep and full bellied, soaring right up to the roof. 

 

The children stop and stare, Dash’s ears prick up and Mycroft gazes at Nicola. It is the first noise he has ever heard leave her lips and what a sound! It makes the hairs on the back of his neck lift up like he’s watching the finest orchestra play. Nicola stops suddenly and blushes deeply, her eyes roaming around everyone else, before they finally go to him, suddenly shyer than before. Mycroft feels a purring in his chest, a feeling deep and primal and it makes him move slightly towards her. Christopher watches them both in fascination. 

 

“Shall we proceed into the reading room then?” Miss. Bailey says brightly. 

 

Nicola nods, but Mycroft seems hesitant. “I wouldn't want to disturb Nicola’s work,” he says. 

 

“Oh nonsense.” Miss. Bailey waves a hand. “We've enlisted you Mr. Holmes. You can’t very well run off now.” She winks at Nicola who blushes again.

 

“No, I suppose not,” Mycroft smiles, once more looking pleased. 

 

Nicola stares at him, before the pair of them make to turn and move forwards at the same time. They nearly crash into one another and Nicola’s face feels as if it’s on fire. She doesn’t know what is happening to her. Mycroft’s hand finds her back and he propels Nicola before him. The children seem amused. 

 

Once in the room Nicola and the teacher push two of the desks together and then Nicola sits down, awaiting her first reader. Mycroft stands somewhat awkwardly beside her, whilst Dash sits up to attention on her side. Satisfied Miss. Bailey goes off to fetch the first pupil. Nicola tilts her head back, so that she can look up at Mycroft, suddenly feeling very receptive towards him and he smiles indulgently down at her. She feels a stirring of something inside her and passes it off as the happiness that she feels from being able to share this with someone as she faces the front again. 

 

The teacher leads in the first pupil. It’s the girl who’d questioned the status of Nicola’s relationship with Mycroft. “This is Clarice,” Miss. Bailey says for Mycroft’s benefit. 

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Clarice,” Mycroft says formally and Nicola can’t help but smile again. 

 

She takes the badge that says, _‘Hi,’_ off of her bag and holds it up so that Clarice can see it, before she re-clips it. 

 

Clarice beams and skips confidently towards them. “Hi.” She waves at Nicola. “I’ve got to choose a book first,” she says as she goes past them towards the bookshelf, which curves around the back of the room. Dash makes a sound of approval as if he’s glad that she remembers how this process all works. Feeling amused Nicola pats him on the head with a smile and misses the fond one that Mycroft gives her in turn. The girl returns with a clatter of her shoes and causes the chair to scrape noisily against the floor as she pulls it back. The sound goes right through Nicola and she pulls a bit of a face, head ducking towards her shoulders, which hunch up. Mycroft catches sight of them doing so and surreptitiously curls his hands around them at once until they relax. He lets go. “Sorry,” the girl says brightly, though she doesn’t look terribly sorry at all, only glad if anything to have encouraged more interaction between Nicola and Mycroft. She places the book down on the table. 

 

“What have you got there then?” Mycroft peers over Nicola’s shoulder at it. 

 

“It’s a book about horse riding Mr. er”-

 

“Holmes,” Mycroft reminds her and again Nicola has to smile. “Ah I see,” Mycroft says now, “Horse riding’s not something that I know much at all about I'm afraid.” 

 

“You don’t have to know much about it,” Clarice says bossily, “You just have to correct me where I go wrong.” Mycroft and Nicola exchange a bit of an amused look. 

 

The teacher, crouched by her pupil, sends an apologetic look Mycroft’s way. “Now Clarice, let’s make a start shall we?” Her hands go to open the book. As if he knows what time it is Dash leaves Nicola’s side for Clarice’s, making sure to brush heavily against the back of Mycroft’s legs on his way there. Nicola catches him doing so and looks at the eldest Holmes apologetically. ‘Sorry,’ she mouths. Mycroft waves a hand, happy that Nicola seems to be getting more comfortable around him, but once again inwardly cursing Dash’s attitude. 

 

“One fine day in M-Madam W”-

 

Nicola tugs at the cuff of Mycroft’s shirtsleeve as Clarice begins to struggle, knowing that he will be able to help her far more quickly than she can with her text-to-speech. Miss. Bailey also looks his way with an amused raised eyebrow, wondering how such an upright man will cope with it all. 

 

“Westbury,” Mycroft comes to the girl’s aid now, leaning over Nicola a little to do so. She finds herself pushing back towards him automatically and feels content when he ends up crouching just behind her. He puts a quick hand on her shoulder to steady himself-his body seems to want to be close after how oddly at ease it had felt against hers before-and then lets go of her again. “Sorry,” he says in a low tone, realizing she might not appreciate all these touches and trying to be mindful of the fact. Nicola doesn’t seem to mind though and hums as she comes to feel his breath upon her ear. 

 

“Are you really not together?” Clarice looks around at them. 

 

“No, like I said previously, Nicola prefers”- 

 

“Well I think you should be,” Clarice interrupts him. 

 

“But then who would be with my brother?” Mycroft says in a soft, considering tone. 

 

“That’s not my problem,” Clarice says in a loud voice, shrugging as if she couldn't care less. 

 

“Now Clarice, I'm glad to see that you’re enthusiastic about our new guest, but it’s reading time now,” Miss. Bailey reminds her once more. 

 

Clarice huffs out a breath, making her cheeks bulge in a hamster like fashion. “I think you’d be adorable,” is the last point that she makes on the matter, before she goes back to her reading again. 

 

Nicola blushes at her comment, not knowing how to feel about the idea of Mycroft and her being together when she’s still getting used to the idea that she likes Sherlock in that way, but as the session goes on she knows that she ends up feeling warmer and nicer inside because listening to Mycroft helping the children out and having him so close to her feels good. It feels amazing to share this experience with someone. She hadn’t realized what a big difference it would make from doing it on her own. It’s like doing it for the first time all over again. 

 

At the end when Miss. Bailey and the final pupil have returned to class and Nicola swivels in her chair, Mycroft comes to stand in front of her and offers his hands to help get her up. She’s just about to take them, liking this gentlemanly and more giving side to him when Dash comes trotting pompously around from the other side of her and pushes his head where their hands would have joined. Nicola feels embarrassed. Dash wouldn't usually be one to spoil the moment, but he hasn’t taken to Mycroft she knows. Mycroft looks annoyed and shoves his hands inside his pockets instead. Getting up without his assistance Nicola turns away from him and clears her throat, before she texts: _Why did you come here today? Nothing’s wrong is it? With Sherlock?_

 

Mycroft feels put back into place, both by Dash and now by Nicola mentioning his brother. He reminds himself that it is Sherlock who she wants to be with despite all the nice moments that they have just shared together and that he too should only be spending time with her for his brother’s benefit. **No. Like I said I wanted to come and see what you did for myself. Truth be told it was your passion yesterday that inspired me. I hope you don’t mind and that you don’t believe it was an intrusion?**

 

“No,” Nicola’s voice is like the broken, faltering chime of a clock. She looks over her shoulder at him. It is the first time that Mycroft’s heard her speak and he looks up from his phone at her with a start just as she turns towards him properly. Nicola feels embarrassed and a little frustrated by him acting amazed like everyone else does when she should talk for the first time, but somehow manages to get through her self-consciousness to say more quietly, “It was nice, having someone glimpse what I do.” There are so many words on the tip of her tongue, but that is as far as she can take it right now. She looks down again. 

 

Mycroft’s lips part as he feels something swell inside him, happiness that out of all the first things Nicola could have said to him it was that. That she’d been glad to have him there. It’s enough to get his heart fluttering and forgetting about Sherlock again just as he’d done when they’d been reading with all the children together. 

 

_I better go. Thank you though, for coming._ Mycroft jumps now when he suddenly receives a text from Nicola. 

 

He nods and quickly sends back: **Would you like me to walk you anywhere? Or pay for a cab home?** He’s suddenly keen to do anything he can to please her. 

 

_No. Thank you, but I'm fine._ She feels a little irked at his text. It makes her feel like an invalid and like someone who needs rescuing. She’s the hero, not the one sitting prettily at the top of the tower. Perhaps leading Mycroft into the school had been a bad idea? She’s rueful now. What must he think of her after all when he’s borne witness to the fact that she can’t even be relied upon to correct school children when they go wrong? When even _they_ come across as being more educated than her? Feeling upset and frustrated now she heads towards the classroom door. Dash scurries after her and sends a dark look Mycroft’s way. 

 

Mycroft, feeling startled, especially by the sadder demeanour that he’d seen appearing on Nicola’s face, hurries after her. 

 

“Oh my God. I’d forgotten that they were still there. What do you think they were doing?” a girl’s voice who Nicola recognizes as Clarice’s asks. Her friend makes loud kissing noises and the other child giggles. A couple of the boys make disgusted sounds. One of them even covers their eyes. 

 

“Now, now everyone, settle down. You’re supposed to be focusing on your spelling,” Miss. Bailey says with a bit of a smile, before she mouths a quick goodbye to Nicola and Mycroft. 

 

Nicola’s on a mission to get to the door and doesn’t even notice, but Mycroft becomes aware of Christopher’s eyes and murmurs, “Goodbye Christopher. Children.” 

 

Nicola falters slightly at his words, before she reaches for the door, heart thudding inside her chest, as if she’s just been for a very fast walk with Dash. 

 

“Bye Mr. Holmes!” Clarice says brightly with a wave, which sets off another round of giggling amongst the children and causes the teacher to shush her. 

 

Mycroft tentatively nods at the girl and hastens to follow Nicola out. He catches up with her when she’s just outside the school. She’s already called for a cab and is now waiting for it. _“Nicola.”_ He touches at her arm. She bows her head, but gestures with her hands that she just wants him to move further away from her. “All right. I’ll give you your space,” he says, “But just answer me this: I haven’t done anything wrong have I?” She doesn’t say anything to that and just turns away from him with folded arms instead. Dash’s lead is now back on and as the dog pushes between them both and gives Mycroft the evil eye Mycroft can’t help it. “Urgh, silly creature,” he mutters, which unfortunately Nicola hears. She feels a flare of shock inside her, which turns into hurt as she looks at him and then anger. She turns away from him all the more, tugging Dash to her side. _“Nicola…”_ Mycroft mutters uselessly, but it is no good. Nicola and Dash remain away from him and he watches as they both clamber inside the taxi, staring at the cab in a dispirited confusion as it drives off. He’d thought that they’d been getting along and knows that Nicola must have been more comfortable with him because she’d actually managed to say a few words-he wouldn't have thought it all that important whether she did so or not before, but suddenly it seems to be the most significant thing that’s happened to him in an age and his heart feels a flare of triumph when he thinks about it-but now she won’t even look at him. He’d partly brought it on himself he knows with that stupid comment he’d made about Dash. That had been more like something Sherlock would do, losing his temper in a fit of childish frustration. But she’d been upset before then…Mycroft sighs, thinking that he’s a long way from understanding the female mind. _Nicola._

 

*

 

Nicola feels troubled about everything that had transpired, especially about what Mycroft had said about Dash, for the entire journey. Dash isn’t silly. He’s her best friend and she would have thought by that point that Mycroft should have known such a thing. To think that she’d probably been enjoying their interaction the most of any time too! That was until he’d had to go and make her feel inferior and the Dash thing. When she gets home though John who comes downstairs as she enters through the front door soon cuts off her thoughts. 

 

“Hey Nicola,” he says, looking happy about something. He starts to go past her and move further down the hallway towards Mrs. Hudson’s. Something about Nicola’s face must affect him though, for he turns to her and asks suddenly, “Is everything all right? You look a little”- he waves an unsteady hand. 

 

“As usual you see, but do not observe John,” comes Sherlock’s deep, baritone voice. Nicola and John both jump and come to be in a position where they can see Sherlock more clearly as he comes creeping downstairs. “Nicola’s hair has been attacked by the breeze, but unlike she usually would when she comes in on such a day her mind is too full of thought for her to have even considered tidying it up. Her eyes have increased in size making me think that she’s sad and frustrated about something. Her drooping mouth also speaks volumes, as does the glare that she’s attempting to send us both now. When you put all these things together along with what we've heard recently I think it’s fair to conclude that Nicola has just had her first major disagreement with her boyfriend. Am I right?” 

 

Nicola shakes her head now, hands fisting and tears getting close to coming out of her eyes. All Sherlock cares about is whether he’s right or not, which he _isn’t._ She doesn’t know why she thinks she’s in love with him sometimes. She really doesn’t. 

 

“Whilst you’ve been arguing with your boyfriend though Nicola, John and I have not been idle.” 

 

“We've got a lead on the arson case,” John tells her. 

 

Nicola is barely interested in how John has been babysitting Sherlock in her place and she fells like she’d quite like to just shut herself in 221C for the rest of the night, but then Sherlock says, “We've discovered the link between the two fires. A boy who’s now in care used to live at the first home. Christopher Lucas, he”- but he stops then because Nicola’s eyes grow as wide as saucers, before she lets out a spluttering of Christopher’s name. Just as Mrs. Hudson comes out of her flat Nicola faints.


	5. Love Is A Terrible Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicola and Sherlock fall out over Christopher. Mycroft realizes the pain of love.

Nicola only blacks out for a few seconds, but it’s long enough for Mrs. Hudson to let out a cry of worry and for Sherlock and John to rush by her side, pushing her bag off her shoulder and away. 

 

“Nicola? Nicola?” Both men babble. 

 

“Can you hear me?” John finally asks.

 

Nicola lets out a bit of a groan now. Dash attempts to lick at her face, but Sherlock shoos him away. If it had been Mycroft then the dog would have probably bit him in retaliation, but as it’s Sherlock he follows his request without complaint. Nicola moans. 

 

“Come.” Sherlock helps her to her feet. She feels dizzy. 

 

“Steady,” John says, grabbing at her arm as she threatens to fall again. 

 

Dash comes forwards and nudges at Nicola’s leg, helping to keep her in place. 

 

“Oh you poor dear,” Mrs. Hudson says now, holding the door of her flat open. “Is she all right?” she asks the boys as they bring Nicola towards her. 

 

“I'm sure she’ll be fine Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock says, though he tightens his grip on Nicola all the same. He and John lead her inside Mrs. Hudson’s flat and settle her down by the table. 

 

Mrs. Hudson sets about making some tea. Sherlock sits opposite Nicola, grasping at her hand and eyeing her, so that he can try to ensure that she keeps from fainting again. John goes into doctor mode. He gets a first aid kit out and shines a little torch in Nicola’s eye, checking her mouth and tongue and feeling her forehead. 

 

“Do you feel dizzy?” he asks. 

 

She does a bit, but after all these years of self-preservation and trying _not_ to draw attention to herself she’s not about to tell him. He’s over-reacting enough as it is. “I'm fine,” she says instead, feeling comfortable enough in her exasperation to be able to speak. Her mind quickly goes back to the matter of Christopher once more and she frowns, throat locking up. 

 

“You had us worried dear,” Mrs. Hudson says warningly, setting the cup of tea down in front of her. “Your parents would kill us all if anything ever happened to you.” Nicola nods absent-mindedly, knowing that to be true. Her mother in particular would complain to whoever would listen. 

 

“Drink that.” John nods. “But then I think you should go back to your flat. Lie down in bed for a bit. Don’t take a shower or bath. Just rest. Doctor’s orders.” 

 

Nicola rolls her eyes at that. She pulls the cup of tea to her lips. The liquid is warm and soothing, making her feel better. 

 

“This is all your fault,” John rounds on Sherlock who mouths, _‘Me?’_ and looks indignant, “Doing your thing on her. Telling her how she’s feeling. Well, it’s no wonder that she’s feeling frustrated when she’s got you telling her that she’s fallen out with her boyfriend, which she probably _doesn’t_ want to be reminded of.”

 

Mrs. Hudson lets out a coo of concern and a disappointed shadow falls across her face at John’s words. “Never mind dear,” she puts a gentle hand upon Nicola’s shoulder, “Young love always finds a way to get back on its feet again. I should imagine that it’ll be the same for you and this man of yours. You still haven’t told me anything about him dear.” She points at Nicola reprovingly now, before she slides her hand to her hip. 

 

“I was just being honest,” Sherlock says haughtily, looking at John reproachfully. “No need to get your knickers all in a twist. Besides, it wasn’t after I said all that, that Nicola fainted. It was after I said the boy’s name.” 

 

A thought seems to pop into both Sherlock’s and John’s heads at the same time now and as one they look at Nicola. 

 

“Do you know the boy?” Sherlock asks. Right then she wishes that she didn't. 

 

She bows her head, feeling self-conscious. She knows that there’s no way that she can physically open her mouth and speak to them properly about all this. The layers of emotion are too complex. Even if she could get something out then it probably wouldn't be everything she needs to say. 

 

_“Nicola?”_ Sherlock pushes. 

 

Even Mrs. Hudson and Dash are staring at her now. 

 

“Perhaps if you let the poor girl rest first Sherlock dear?” Mrs. Hudson attempts. 

 

_“Mrs. Hudson!”_ Sherlock gets annoyed with her suggestion. He stands up now, towering over Nicola, whilst his hands push down onto the table. “This is no time for resting. Nicola, I'm really sorry, but if you know the boy then”-

 

Nicola gets her phone out now. Everyone waits with bated breath. She explains how she knows Christopher. Says that he’s one of the children who Dash and her help, but that she only ever reads a small amount with him because he’s had a traumatic past and speaks very little. 

 

By the end of it all Sherlock is decided. “Right then. When John and I go to question him tomorrow you can join us.” Nicola looks at him warily. “Don’t you see? You’re invaluable to us,” Sherlock emphasizes, “Your presence, and Dash’s too of course, might encourage him to tell us the truth.” Eventually she just nods because she wants to get out of there to think about all this alone, but also, and this shocks her, to tell Mycroft about it all. She’s never had that before, the feeling that she can confide in someone other than her father, and she’s surprised that she’s realizing that she can in fact talk to him in such a way after he’d made her feel so small earlier and been so cruel to poor Dash. But seeing past all that now she feels sure that it’s only happening because having seen Christopher himself he’ll know how much he means to her and understand her conflict about what Sherlock’s plan is. “What’s he like?” Sherlock asks her suddenly, and for one stupid moment she thinks that he means Mycroft. She’s not quite sure how to respond without the answer getting on the younger brother’s nerves. _‘Mostly he seems to be kind and generous with his time even though he’s always busy. He cares for you so much. You probably don’t even realize,’_ is what her mind settles on, before she understands of course that the one who Sherlock is asking about is Christopher. “Is there anything you can tell us that will help in questioning him? Anything that we need to look out for?” 

 

She shakes her head now, mind still on calling Mycroft and face a little red from what she’d thought before. Then, distractedly and wanting to be on her own, whether that complies to Sherlock’s wishes or not, she slowly gets up, leaving her half-drunk tea behind on the table. 

 

“You haven’t finished your tea dear,” Mrs. Hudson notices. Nicola waves a hand. 

 

“It’s a little early to be on your feet again,” John worries.

 

“ ‘M fine,” Nicola pushes out of her mouth. 

 

She hears the shifting of someone moving. “Just leave her,” Sherlock says in irritation. “I was hoping that she might realize just how important this all is, but her mind’s full of her boyfriend.” He sounds disgusted and his words do more than just sting, they _hurt._ How is it that both Holmes’ have managed to upset and disappoint her that day when she’d thought that they both would have known her better? 

 

Still, knowing that she won’t be able to express everything that she’s feeling right now she gets up and goes to her flat. Dash follows after her. 

 

It takes her a full five minutes to just shake with anger and feel annoyed at what Sherlock had just said, hurt at the lack of understanding that had come from him. If he knew how much Christopher meant to her then he’d know just how important she’s treating it all and that she’s not just some silly girl eating ice cream over some argument. But then he hasn’t seen Christopher like she has. Like _Mycroft_ has. She gets out her phone now and texts: _I need to talk to you._

 

**Ah Nicola. I'm a little surprised to hear from you after the way we left things earlier.** She feels a little twinge as soon as she reads that, but this is important she thinks now and she’s not going to let her hurt feelings earlier get in the way of hopefully starting to make things right. The situation is too significant for that. 

 

_I'm sorry._ She needs to get this over with. _I know it might have looked ungrateful of me, but you made me feel small when you offered to pay for a ride home or escort me before. It made me feel like you thought me stupid because I can’t help the children as fully as you can. I thought I’d made it clear that I wasn’t stupid to you? Anyway, you were really mean about Dash, Mycroft, and that hurt too. I thought you understood how much he means to me? How much he’s helped?_

 

Mycroft, sitting in his armchair at home, feels surprised now, but grateful for the explanation of Nicola’s feelings. He leans forwards as he composes his reply. **I am very sorry for having had that effect on you. I was purely trying to be gentlemanly and I thought you knew by now that I do not think you stupid in the slightest. Would I really trust you as much with my brother’s heart if I did?**

 

_I guess not._ She realizes that she might have overreacted now. 

 

**Anyway, as for Dash of course I realize how much value he is to you. I did not mean to sully that in any way. I was just expressing the fact that it frustrates me that he does not seem to like me very much sometimes!** He puts an exclamation mark at that point as if it is funny; when in reality it is far from being so. Much to his chagrin after that trip to the school he’s started experiencing the odd daydream where he sees himself with Nicola and wonders what it would be like if she viewed him in that way instead. If they were doing things together. He knows he shouldn't be thinking such things. Not only does she have designs for his brother after all and he can’t imagine swooping in and stealing her away from him, but the age gap between them is an even greater one and he worries that somehow he’ll ruin and break her, especially if she were to find out the truth about his past. He cannot picture himself with her _and_ that dog however. 

 

_He does like you. I'm sure he does,_ Nicola puts and they both know it to be a lie. _Anyway, I need to talk to you about Christopher._ She’s keen to move on. 

 

**Ah, quite a sweet little boy,** Mycroft responds now, feeling a little bit awkward, but thinking that Nicola is merely saying such a thing to get him to reply in such a way and to comment on the good work that she’s doing. 

 

_Yes,_ Nicola types now and such a thing grows more frantic, _You know I told you about the case that Sherlock’s working on?_

 

**The arson?** Mycroft questions, feeling startled by the quick change of subject, but going along with it all the same. He senses that Nicola is close to making an important point and little threads of worry pull at his mind. Is she going to tell him that Sherlock’s been acting strangely? That he’s started saying things, which don’t add up, but that _he_ might understand? Then he’ll have to focus on Sherlock a hundred per-cent again and cast any silly notions he has about being with Nicola aside. It’s ridiculous, but it makes his heart sink. 

 

_Yes. Well Sherlock and John have just informed me that they suspect Christopher of all people is the link between the two fires. Christopher, Mycroft!_ If she’d been speaking then she would have sounded anguished. 

 

**Christopher! How so?** Mycroft feels just as unsettled by this development. The boy he’d met that day had been frightened and uncertain that’s for sure, a little unpredictable maybe, but Mycroft had not looked at him and seen any malicious intent or thought the boy would be capable of committing such a crime. Especially after how attached he seemed to be to Nicola and she to him. She seems generally to have good judgement he thinks. Whilst he himself did not sense that odd energy creeping off Christopher like Eurus had. She had drawn strange things as well as been oddly vacant and detached. Mycroft remembers the drawing that Christopher had done in his workbook now of the man who had come to take him away. He shivers, not wanting to believe in it, but making his mind up that he will try and be as active as he can be in this situation. Nicola needs him. He has a stupid vision of himself rescuing things and making it all better in his mind. Nicola’s glowing face perhaps acting as his reward. 

 

_Well, he used to live at the house that got burnt down, before he got taken into care. I don’t know what his connection with the corner shop is because I fainted, but I can’t believe he’s responsible for it Mycroft. I just can’t._

 

Mycroft takes one thing most of all from Nicola’s text. **You fainted? Are you all right? Where are you?** he asks now. 

 

_I'm in my flat. I'm fine. Don’t you go fussing too. John’s already done his mother hen routine on me. We need to focus on Christopher. You met him yourself today. I know you don’t know him much, but do you really think he did what he’s being accused of?_

 

**Is there anyone there to take care of you?**

 

_I'm fine Mycroft._

 

**Well, in that case then, did my brother say what his next step is going to be?**

 

_He and John are going to question Christopher tomorrow. He wants me to go with them._

 

**Well, I can understand why he would,** he puts. 

 

_But what if it makes Christopher not trust me any more?_

 

**I'm sure that he will still trust you. Just remain a supportive presence and try not to question him too much yourself. Use your body language to show him that you’re on his side. Let him know that Sherlock and John aren't there to be mean to him either. The sooner that he can be dismissed from the case the better.**

 

Nicola feels happier from reading that. It feels like more of a plan is coming together, like everything’s becoming clearer as to how she should act. _Right. That sounds good. Thank you._

 

**I'm glad.** There’s an odd moment where Nicola doesn’t know what to say. But then Mycroft adds, **Nicola?**

 

_Yes?_ She feels relieved that he’s put something.

 

**Text me after it happens won’t you? I should like to hear how it all went, about Christopher, and, your feelings. Phone me if you can.** He sounds so earnest that it makes her suddenly feel a fondness in her chest for him. 

 

_Okay. I'm going to go now. Rest up and stuff, but goodnight Mycroft._

 

**Take care,** is what he sends in reply. It makes her feel warm inside. 

 

*

 

She feels terrified the next day. Granted she usually feels terrified about a lot of social activity, but she’s never had it as bad as this before. 

 

Having pulled out of her work at the library for the day-thank God that Celia’s an understanding boss-she walks up to her favourite school with Sherlock and John and feels sick at the thought of having to question her favourite pupil. She wants to turn around and run, but somehow her feet keep her going. 

 

Sherlock and John let Nicola and Dash in the classroom first. Miss. Bailey and all the pupils look surprised to see them. Meekly Nicola goes across and hands the teacher a note, which says: _I'm sorry to disturb you again today. There are two men outside. They are representatives of the police and I'm afraid that they need to have a quick word with Christopher. I know both of them and I know-_ more like she hopes, especially in the case of Sherlock- _that they won’t do anything to upset Christopher, but I wanted to come as his support. I thought that Dash might calm him down as well._

 

Miss. Bailey nods, looking serious as she meets the other woman’s eyes, but trusting her as she says, “Christopher? Could you please go with Nicola now?” 

 

Christopher looks scared, but his feet, just as Nicola’s had done earlier, somehow work automatically. He comes across to Nicola and she leads the way into the empty classroom that they’d been in the day before. Dash accompanies them. 

 

Christopher’s body trembles. Is he about to be taken away again? First Mycroft shows up yesterday and now Nicola’s come on a day that she definitely wasn’t meant to wanting to talk to him when he can tell that she’s uneasy about something. It radiates off her like the sea against the shore. Nicola meanwhile wishes that she could make a soothing sound, but her mouth is stuck too much even for that. She squeezes onto Christopher’s shoulder momentarily, as she remembers Mycroft’s point about body language and then pushes two of the desks together, nodding that Christopher should take a seat. She sits right by him and takes his hand. He looks terrified. Dash goes on the other side of him and Christopher pats at his head, more robotically than anything else. 

 

Sherlock and John enter the room. Nicola and Christopher tense up. She clutches onto his hand. His body shakes even harder at that and she sees that fear as she looks at him, that fear of being taken away again. He begins to make these noises that transform into keening sobs even though she shifts closer to him. Nicola feels awful and bites down upon her lip, her heart ragged with emotion. There is so much tension in the room that it is almost unbearable. 

 

“Hello Christopher. It’s all right. I'm Sherlock and this is John. We’re friends of Nicola.” Christopher’s breath catches inside his chest and he looks at her now. Tentatively she looks back at him, hoping that she’s pulling a reassuring expression rather than a blank one, which she suspects might be more the case. “We just need to ask you a few questions. Is that all right?” Sherlock crouches before Christopher and Nicola now, whilst John stands off to the side of him, notebook at the ready. Christopher looks at the consulting detective, his eyes still wet with tears. In a faltering fashion he nods. “Firstly I need to ask: what do you do when you get angry Christopher?” Christopher hesitates. “Oh come on,” Sherlock encourages him softly, “We _all_ get angry. John here gets cross when he tries to do self-service at the supermarket.” Both Christopher and Nicola lose some of the tension inside their bodies at that. At least Sherlock is _trying_ to be reassuring. “I get annoyed when I can’t figure something out. Nicola here is angry right now because of us questioning you.” Christopher looks at her, as if seeing that she’s an ally after all and she squeezes at his hand, feeling relieved. Maybe Mycroft had been right and Christopher will still be able to trust her after all. 

 

John places a piece of paper from his notebook and a pen in front of Christopher. “For you,” he says awkwardly. Christopher stares at both objects for one very long moment, but doesn’t touch either one of them. 

 

“Some people Christopher,” Sherlock goes on, more cautiously now, “When they get mad, _really_ mad, have to take it out on something.” Christopher’s breath catches inside his chest. Nicola feels a sense of dread. “They might not mean to do something, but they still do it anyway.” A pause. “You live in a children’s home don’t you Christopher?” Christopher lets out a whimper and buries his head into Nicola’s arm. He clutches onto it and she looks at Sherlock reprovingly. He might have started off well, but now he seems to be pushing things all too soon and she thinks that he should go slower. “It must have hurt. Being taken away from your mother?” Christopher shakes his head repeatedly, as if he does not want to think about that. Nicola half-turns towards him and holds him to her chest. “Were you angry Christopher? About being taken away?” Christopher pushes into Nicola’s chest now and she wraps an arm around him, fingers clutching onto his hair. She feels cross at Sherlock’s question. Of course it would have hurt! Of course Christopher must feel angry and upset about it all! How could he not? Her free hand goes out into a stop sign. Sherlock can ask things later if he must, but she thinks that they could all do with a break right now. Sherlock swats it away irritably. “Did you start a fire at the house that you used to live in Christopher? Your mother doesn’t live there any more.” Nicola’s breath catches inside her chest, fearing the worst. “But then you know that don’t you?” He looks at the boy with a slight darkness about his face. “She’s still alive, but she’s in a shelter across town. They’re trying to look after her. They’re doing their best.” Christopher stills against Nicola. “Did you try and find her one day at your old house Christopher? Did you get cross when she wasn’t there?” Christopher begins to shake his head wildly and Dash makes a soft whine, pleading for his friend Sherlock to stop. Nicola’s body trembles. “But you were upset before that little incident weren’t you Christopher? You were cross because the people at the corner shop thought that you were stealing something and banned you, even though they’d never had a problem with you before. Even though you thought they knew you’re a good boy.” Nicola’s fingers tighten on Christopher. She begins to feel afraid. What if Christopher _is_ actually responsible for it all? It’s all beginning to sound remarkably plausible. But she hates to even consider the thought. There must be a lot of people who have been banned from the corner shop over the years. People who have held grudges against the owner or people who work there. She feels suddenly incensed with Sherlock for pursuing this line of enquiry, especially when she can feel Christopher shaking against her. “Were you angry enough to light a fire there too Christopher?” 

 

_“Enough.”_ Nicola doesn’t know where it comes from but the word escapes her without her even having to think about it. As soon as it comes into her mind it escapes her, sounding like a clanging gong. Sherlock’s eyes flash as he looks at her. John’s mouth opens. Christopher pulls back and looks at Nicola in astonishment, his entire face damp with tears. He’s never heard her sound so fierce before. She just about manages a smile for him, before she turns towards Sherlock again. “No more questions.” She stands. She can feel her voice retreating from her. 

 

_“Nicola!”_ Sherlock is horrified. 

 

“No,” she croaks, managing that at least as Christopher looks at her in admiration and the full weight of what she’s doing starts to hit her. Sherlock sends her a gaze that is full of frustration, as if he is seeing her for the first time and doesn’t like it one bit. Nicola half-eyes him for a moment, before she whips her phone out. _You will not ask him any more questions. You have asked him enough. Can’t you see how upset he is?_

 

A muscle tenses in Sherlock’s jaw as he reads it and his fingers are furious as he taps out his response. **You just don’t want him to continue because you can see the fact that he’s responsible as much as I can and you can’t bear it. Can’t bear the fact that your support for this boy might not have done as much as you think it all has. But you can’t obstruct an investigation with sentiment. I won’t let you Nicola.**

 

Not caring about the privacy of the matter any more she converts to using text-to-speech and cranks up the volume, so the robotic voice roars, _‘No because you’re Sherlock Holmes and you don’t feel a bloody thing do you?!’_ John looks stunned now, as does Christopher. Sherlock looks surprised. Even Dash takes a couple of astonished steps away from her, his body low, as if he’s assessing what she’s going to do next. Fed up of them all she pulls Christopher to his feet and frog marches him out of there, nerves trembling on the inside. The boy makes some spluttering sounds, but other than that nothing comes out of him. She delivers him back to class, gives Miss. Bailey-who looks impressed-a fiery look as if to say, _‘We’re done here,’_ affixes Dash’s lead back on and then walks out.

 

She hurries a few streets away to increase the distance between the detective and her and then comes to a panting stop again. Dash looks up at her enquiringly. She cannot believe what she’s just done and that she might have ruined her relationship with Sherlock entirely, even if it had been for a worthwhile cause. But right then it feels hard to appreciate that. She scratches at her dog’s head absent-mindedly, focusing her attention on her phone. She doesn’t think that she can speak. She thinks that just the very act of opening her mouth right now might result in her being sick. But she has to get these feelings out of her somehow. Curling up her free hand and trying to limit her body’s shaking she texts: _Mycroft?_

 

**Is everything all right? Have you been to the school?** comes the reply just a moment later. He has been waiting to hear from her she senses and she likes the fact. 

 

_No, I don’t think everything’s all right Mycroft. I think-_ she hesitates, for this is quite the thing to admit, but she’s encouraged by his response- _I know you’re busy or whatever, but I think I need you._ He feels warm all over from hearing that, but still concerned. 

 

**Where are you?**

 

_I don’t-hang on-I don’t know._

 

**What can you see Nicola? There must be a street name near by. Stay calm. Don’t panic.**

 

She swallows, trying to follow his words, but tears spill out of her eyes anyway, as finally she can’t hold back all the emotion that’s inside her. The street is crowded however and she feels more and more uncomfortable. Everyone pushes and shoves and no one seems to notice how dire in need of help she is. Finally a foreign sound breaks through the bustle and Nicola takes a moment to realize that it’s her phone. 

 

_“Nicola?”_ Mycroft’s voice drips into her ear fretful, but somehow both hopeful and reassuring too. “I’ve got you all right?” he soothes, as she begins to cry all the more. “I followed the line of CCTV cameras from the school and I can see you now.” It’s logic, pure logic and though it doesn’t help much something about it helps straighten her insides and she’s reminded of her father desperately trying to make her understand maths all those years ago. It’s simple, he’d told her then. Getting herself together now must be just as easy. She lifts her sleeve to her eyes, letting out a bit of a sniff, before she lowers her arm again. Mycroft watches her with a sympathetic heart. “You need to keep walking and take a left at the next turning. There is a cab about a quarter of the way up the next street. You need to get inside it and take it to Kensington all right? I’ll pay for however much the fare costs, but that’s where I live. As soon as you notice that you’re in Kensington you need to text me. Then I’ll send you the exact details of my address. I’ll be heading there now and I’ll be waiting outside for you. Go and do that for me now.” 

 

She tries to get out a gurgle to show that she’s heard him and she’s grateful, but her throat feels like the gravel she used to play on as a child. In any case Mycroft’s gone now. She lowers her phone and marches forwards once more. She can do this. She gets the taxi that he’d instructed her to-thankfully the driver either doesn’t mind Dash being there or can perhaps see the state that she’s in and that she just needs a bit of kindness right now-and it’s a relief to have to focus on whether she’s arrived in Kensington yet instead of on Christopher and Sherlock and all the mess that has just occurred. Once she’s certain that she has indeed made it to that area she sends off a text to Mycroft. He sends one back to her with his address on it and seems relieved to have heard from her. She feels similarly reassured when she sees him waiting on the pavement for her. The car rolls to a stop and Mycroft opens the car door. Dash decides to get out first, clambering across Nicola and bounding down. Mycroft wrinkles his nose at the dog who he’s just unwillingly helped and Nicola lets out a bit of a watery chuckle. Dash turns away from Mycroft to wait for her to get out. She does so and stares at Mycroft gratefully, though she feels a little embarrassed about him seeing her in this way. Mycroft’s eyes rake across her, before he gives her shoulder a kind, but light squeeze, not wanting to make her feel any more uncomfortable. 

 

“I won’t be a moment.” He goes off to pay the driver. There’s a bit of a discussion as the crisp notes are handed over and then finally the car’s pulling away again. Mycroft comes back to Nicola. 

 

_“Mycroft,”_ she manages to get out, voice strained, distressed. 

 

Without further ado Mycroft pulls her to him. Dash sounds as if he might be close to barking at the gesture, but Nicola shuts him up by putting her fingers close to his mouth. She closes her eyes, rests her cheek on Mycroft’s chest and wraps one of her arms around his middle. Her hand holds onto Dash’s lead. 

 

Mycroft makes soothing strokes against her hair, cupping her to him securely. “Shh. It’s all right. You’re not there now.” This is what he would have said after one of Sherlock’s many nightmares or bad days at school. She nods dumbly at him, but she still feels so breathless about it all-the interrogation with Christopher and what had happened with Sherlock, the _way_ that he’d looked at her. So much sadness and disappointment had been behind his eyes. She’d felt sure that they might be heading towards a place where they would be together or at the very least one where the silly tension that’s been between them for days would fade, but now she’s not so sure. She clings onto Mycroft even tighter. “Come. Let’s get you inside hmm?” he says. She nods and separates from him momentarily. He puts an arm around her shoulders and steers her towards the driveway, gaze fixed and focused unlike hers, which looks around nervously. She feels embarrassed at the thought of other people seeing her in such a way, even though she does not know them at all and tries to get herself together, plucking at her clothes and swallowing. Mycroft is a calm and steady presence by her side, guiding her just so, so that they first move onto the driveway and then right up to the black door of the Georgian red brick house, which is moderate, but still imposing in its size. 

 

The hallway is vast and spacious, a little draughty too. A maroon carpet stretches up the wooden floor’s middle. Stairs with blue carpet lie on the left, a polished dark banister leading up them, whilst Nicola’s pretty sure that the door right at the back of the house leads to the kitchen-she thinks that she gets a glimpse of a kitchen island. 

 

Mycroft takes her jacket from her, rubbing a little at the part of her arms, which is not covered by her purple and black plaid shirt as he does so to encourage warmth. He hangs the dark jacket up on the coat rack that’s next to the umbrella stand. A little gurgle escapes Nicola’s lips now and her fingers reach to find Dash for reassurance. He nudges against her. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft says, looking around distractedly, “In the sitting room I think.” He steers her off into a room that’s on the right. She feels relieved that having people at his house might be new to him so he’s got his own nerves. It makes hers feel less vast and awkward. 

 

She likes the sitting room at once. The dark fireplace is offset nicely by the rich warm colours of the red, yellow and orange patterned rugs and the cosy brown armchairs that are beyond the settee, which faces the small television set over the mantelpiece. A drinks cabinet is off to the left, whilst a turntable and vinyl collection are off to the right. It’s all very traditional and comfortable. All it needs is a bookshelf to make it all the better. 

 

Mycroft settles her down in one of the armchairs and gets the fire lit. “I’ll sort out some tea for us both. Make yourself at home Nicola,” he tells her now. Dash needs no further encouragement. He stretches out on the rug in front of the fire and Nicola splutters out a laugh again, before she takes the lead away from him, so that he’ll be more at ease. Mycroft waves his hands in exasperation at the dog, which makes Nicola laugh, almost cupping her mouth with her hand to catch it, before Mycroft goes off to fetch the tea. 

 

On his return he rests Nicola’s cup down on a placemat on the side table, adjusting it just so, before he does the same with his own. 

 

She takes a sip of her tea and feels her shoulders sinking down at once. It is warm and perfect. _Chamomile._ She leans back into the armchair, closing her eyes. 

 

“You are comfortable?” Mycroft questions, observing her from his own chair. 

 

_“Mm.”_ She opens her eyes. It is odd, considering how relaxed she’s managing to feel now, that the past few hours have even happened. Determined not to talk about them for a little longer Nicola closes her eyes again. 

 

Mycroft feels awkward. He does not want to spoil her ease, to get her out of that place of comfort when she has only just got there and pull her back into reality again, but at the same time he wants to ask her about everything too, about Christopher and about what has happened. He wants to ask about these things because not only does he need to know them because he senses that something has gone terribly wrong, but because he knows that by discussing them together then they’ll hopefully be a step closer to solving them. 

 

Finally though she fixes the problem for him, putting down her tea and texting: _I'm sorry. I should be explaining everything. It’s just so difficult to. Sherlock and I fell out Mycroft and I'm sorry but I accused him of not having any feelings. I know it’s not true. He has feelings like the rest of us do, but in that moment it felt as if he didn't. He was being so tough on Christopher, pushing and pushing him. He said that I was trying to stop him from getting the truth out of Christopher because I couldn't bear it. That I’d failed him._ Mycroft sighs at reading it. He wonders for a moment if Nicola and Sherlock are really all that well suited after all, before he dismisses it. It is just his brother’s hot head getting in the way. He will be responsible for his own downfall at this rate. Mycroft must do as much as he can to support them both and enable them to have a happy life together. _The way that Sherlock looked at me it was as if he was disgusted with me, as if I’d disappointed him so very much._

 

He senses that it’s Sherlock that she’s most upset about, Sherlock who she is thinking of how she can reconcile with. In spite of himself he feels frustrated because she is looking straight past him to Sherlock. She’s in _his_ house and still she does not see him! He worries that his own feelings for her will spill out and feels glad that he doesn’t have to talk. Trying to stay on track he puts, **If Christopher were guilty, and I am not saying that I want to believe that he is any more so than you do, but if he were than what would bother you the most about that idea? Aside from the obvious I mean?**

 

_That whatever tragedy has occurred in his past has got the better of him. So many people assume that, that’s why anyone can’t talk. Even though it is in his case I think he has so much more potential there than to let himself fall down now._

 

**I agree, but what you have to remember is that no matter what circumstances have occurred in Christopher’s past, and I think we can both agree that they must be pretty terrible ones for him to have had to have been removed from his family-** Mycroft pauses now, thinking about Eurus- **Some people just naturally allow themselves to be consumed by it. Acting upon it is not a choice for them, just like talking is not a choice for you. It would not really be him making such a decision and so no matter how hard you have worked perhaps in the end there was very little you could have done to have stopped all this. Not if the boy’s not in his right mind.** He straightens himself once more. 

 

_I know, but I'm just really worried that even if he hasn’t done all of this he’s going to be found guilty for it anyway. He can’t defend himself properly because he doesn’t always talk. He’s vulnerable and struggles with his emotions._ Mycroft thinks that they all do that, but reads on. _Then there’s also the fact that every day after school he has to go back to a children’s home instead of a place where he can truly be loved._

 

**You want better for him?**

 

_Of course I do. He deserves better. He deserves love and a home._

 

Mycroft lets out a bit of a sigh at that, feeling uncomfortable as his attempts to entertain Eurus, to try and get her brain doing something more productive, rather than just sitting in that blank cell all day fill his mind up again. He _has_ tried too he knows, but he senses that if Nicola ever found out about Eurus then she would feel like he hasn’t done enough for her. That he’d abandoned his sister and left her without love and been just as cruel as all the people who seem to be lining up and standing against Christopher now. It makes him feel even more conflicted about the feelings he has for her and like he should not be having them at all because ultimately she would not accept him. Not if she knew who he really was and what he’d done. His body though, as if in a silent plea all of its own accord, cannot help but move across to sit on the arm of her chair now. Dash lets out a bit of a grumble and twitches, but does not get up, accepting that Mycroft is the only human there in that moment who can help Nicola. Nicola leans against Mycroft, _and,_ feeling torn, but helpless he holds her close again, heart aching and aching. He loves her he realizes; it’s not just that he wants to be with her or that he wants a distraction from Sherlock and his family, he loves her. He actually does. He can’t hide it from himself any longer, not after the past two days. But what a terrible thing it is to feel for her in such a way when she still has her eyes so set upon his brother. It is love he knows that has made her get so upset today, both over Sherlock and Christopher and it is love that now makes him proceed, “If you wanted me to then I could come and talk to Christopher with you? I know he didn't take to me at first, but he seemed to warm up a little as time went on. If we took him somewhere that got him feeling more comfortable, that felt like more of a treat than an interrogation to him then perhaps it could be of help? I know neither of us want to put any pressure on the boy, but this matter needs to be cleared up for his sake. If it was just us then maybe things would go more smoothly?” He’s foolishly hopeful, a small part of him thinking that he can at least be by her side more this way. That he might be able to help correct things and then _maybe-_

 

She nods, liking the idea even though she’s not looking forward to being in that sort of situation with Christopher again. She knows that Mycroft’s right though. It _does_ need to be sorted. Still, she can’t help but confess, _The worst thing is though that I'm terrified that Sherlock’s going to be right Mycroft._ Mycroft sighs again as he reads it. _I had a hundred per-cent faith going into that school this morning that Christopher was innocent, that it was all just some stupid mix-up, but now I'm not so sure and as much as I hate to admit it in this situation your brother’s usually right._

 

“I know, but whatever the case you have to remember what I’ve just told you. It doesn’t mean that you’ve failed Christopher,” Mycroft reminds her softly. “It was wrong of my brother to say that. I could see the difference you made just in the short visit that I did yesterday.” Dash makes a small sound now and Nicola thinks that it might be the first time that Mycroft and he are in agreement about something. _“What?”_ Mycroft questions when he sees her smiling. 

 

“Dash thinks so too,” she manages to murmur, kicking her leg out a little and shifting closer to Mycroft. His hand goes to her back. _What you said before-about some people being engulfed by tragedy? You were thinking about your brother weren’t you? The drugs? How he cannot help but take them some days when he’s bored? How his mind needs that constant stimulant? I'm so sorry Mycroft._

 

Yes, love is a terrible thing.


	6. The Fifth Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mycroft's talk with Christopher goes awry it sets an unfortunate chain of events in motion...

“Is the relationship you have with Nicola like being in love?” Christopher asks Mycroft the next day when they are in a café together. He wouldn't usually be so bold, especially when his routine has been changed yet again as Mycroft and Nicola have taken him out to lunch in another attempt to get the truth with the promise that they will get him back for the next period of school, but he’s been wondering about such a thing ever since they’d picked him up and made a series of shy glances and touches towards one another as they’d all sat down. He hadn’t known that Nicola had done so because of her condition and because she’s a little wary-all her physical contact with Mycroft has set off odd reactions that she doesn’t understand in her body. It’s like trying to avoid being electrocuted. Whilst for Mycroft his shyness _does_ in fact come out of a place of love. Christopher had seen throughout all this that Nicola trusts Mycroft implicitly, perhaps more than anyone else and that’s the only reason he’d been comfortable enough in asking the older man. 

 

Thankfully for Mycroft, Nicola is not currently here to hear Christopher ask this most embarrassing of questions, having gone to the bathroom. Mycroft hopes, as he delays answering, that Dash, currently by Nicola’s side of the table with his lead loosely wrapped around her chair, won’t find a way to communicate with her about all this. He knows that if there’s any way the dog could that he would. He’d probably be warning her off him. More so than he’s even trying to do himself. The thought prickles at him uncomfortably. He squeezes at his slice of chocolate cream cake and then deposits it back onto his plate momentarily, so that he can lick the icing off his fingers. He picks it up again. He contemplates raising it to his mouth, before he decides not to and asks instead, “What do you know about love Christopher?” He takes a large bite out of the cake.

 

The boy contemplates the question for a moment, looking at the table. “Not much of anything,” he says, “Mummy used to have…men around sometimes.” Mycroft feels immediately uncomfortable now because he can guess what Christopher means. “But I don’t think she was in love with any of them and I never saw her with Father.”

 

_“No?”_ Mycroft tries to ask casually, putting his cake down and wondering how he can lead on to the topic of the fires. 

 

“No,” Christopher admits quietly now. “That’s why I was wondering”-he looks back up again-“If the way Nicola and you are…is _that_ love?” 

 

“Love is a complex thing,” Mycroft finds himself saying, before he shakes the feelings off again. He has to try and focus and be there for Christopher. It’s what Nicola would want him to do. “Listen Christopher. I know-I know that things have been hard for you.” Christopher looks up at him owlishly now, as if he’s trying to work out whether Mycroft really _does_ understand. “But there are certain… _ways_ of behaving that are not looked on acceptably by society. Starting a fire would be one of them,” he is gruff as he deals with his own emotions and guilt and Christopher senses trouble. 

 

“I didn't start them! I thought you believed me?” 

 

Mycroft begins to panic now. An upset child, especially one so closely linked to the woman he holds a great affection for and wants to impress is more difficult for him to deal with than the Prime Minister. He gestures his hands in what he hopes will be a placating manner. “I do Christopher I do. I am just trying to tell you that as long as you are truthful with me then everything”- He sees himself staring through the glass at Eurus now, trying to work out the best way of dealing with her. Unafraid she stares back at him. He lets out a little burst of breath, but the scraping noise of Christopher’s chair as he stands up once more flings him back into reality. Dash lifts his head up and whines. 

 

“You’re going to send me away again aren't you?”

 

“No, no,” Mycroft almost begs the boy to calm down and let him start things again, but just like that Christopher darts off towards the entrance of the café. Dash tugs free and hurries after him, letting out a warning bark, which gets a lot of heads turning their way. Nicola, who is just on her way back from the bathroom, looks on in surprise as Christopher pushes against her roughly, the suddenness of it all not letting her speak. Her eyes shift towards Mycroft who is just getting up in an appalled fashion, face desperate in a way that she has not seen it ever be before. She tears after Christopher, choosing him in that second because she knows that Mycroft has gone wrong somehow. Feeling frightened Mycroft grabs his trusty umbrella and coat and races after them. 

 

He gets out of the door with its tinkling bell that sounds more like a call of warning then anything friendly right then just as Christopher dashes out into the road. Recklessly Nicola makes to charge after him with no thought of her own safety even though Dash tries to pull her back by standing firm upon the kerb. Mycroft only realizes that he’s dropped his coat and umbrella on the pavement, flung himself forward and grabbed her around the middle when they go tumbling down together. He lets out a grunt. His wrists hurt from the quick reflex action, not to mention his posterior. Nicola releases a sharp breath. Her back is to Mycroft’s chest and her body in between his legs on the pavement. Her eyes do not turn to fix on the man that is all around her however. Rather she focuses on Christopher who has made it to the pavement opposite unharmed and is staring back at them, eyes wide. Her ears pop and she hears Dash barking, feeling the stares of people all around them. A car brushes close and she pulls her leg back. Mycroft’s hands tighten around her waist, before he lets out a large breath and pulls them both up into a standing position. He is aware of where his things are, but does not make to pick them up again. Instead, and irate now, he turns his gaze to Nicola who looks shocked by it all. For some reason that only serves to make him all the angrier. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” She looks at him with wide eyes as he lectures her. “Going after him like that? You could have been killed! And for all your talk about not wanting to fail him, well that’s exactly what you would have done if you’d got splattered across the road just now!” 

 

Nicola is shocked. She doesn’t realize like some of the people watching them do that Mycroft is terrified and that he is shouting at her in that way, whilst Dash still barks, because he loves her and is fretting about how easily she could have just been taken away from him. How he could have lost all the things that he’s starting to hope for in one fell swoop. All she knows is that she feels he’s being unfair. With too much rumbling emotions going on inside her however she can’t speak. Instead she fumbles for her phone, which is thankfully unscathed in her pocket and taps heatedly via the text-to-speech: _‘I wouldn't have had to go after him if it weren’t for you in the first place! What did you even say to him?’_ The sound is still on loud though from Nicola’s confrontation with Sherlock the previous day and the robotic voice seems to echo all around them. 

 

Mycroft looks embarrassed that she hadn’t just sent him a text and kept things more private. He picks up his things off the ground and steps closer to her, trying to suggest that the conversation is closed off to everyone else. Nicola scowls at him and forces herself to keep looking at him. “I was merely trying to do what you wanted me to.” Mycroft waves a hand vacantly, before he thinks about it all some more. “I suppose, what with the pressure of it all, I might have been a bit harsher than I’d like to have been, but”-

 

_‘Oh great!’_ Nicola gets her text-to-speech working again. _‘He’s supposed to trust us Mycroft! We’re supposed to be on his side! Not making out that we’re against him! We’re the only ones that he’s got.’_ She looks off to the side. _‘God help him,’_ she thinks. 

 

“But I”- Mycroft begins to say feebly, feeling terribly guilty at what he’s just heard. Nicola grabs Dash and pulls him away, across the road. Forlornly Mycroft follows after them after checking that it’s safe. They regroup with Christopher and after checking that he’s all right make a silent vigil back to the school. 

 

“He’ll be fine,” Mycroft says hollowly once Christopher rejoins his class without another word to them. Miss. Bailey looks between the three of them concernedly, but none of them it seems can summon up the energy to explain anything, so she closes the door again in Nicola and Mycroft’s faces, before going back to her lesson. Nicola and Mycroft make their way out of the school, Nicola walking quickly with Mycroft hurrying to keep up with her. _“Nicky?”_ He catches up with her. Perhaps that wasn’t the best time to shorten her name though, for she sends him a dark look. No one’s ever called her that before and she doesn’t need her stomach flipping from him doing so or her being reminded of her father’s, _‘Nic.’_ She turns away from him, ducking her head and feeling as unable to look in his blue eyes as she had when they’d first met. Only now it’s because she’s ruing the day that she’d started to get more involved with him. She should have sent him away when he’d first scared Christopher at the school, not tried to make things better, as if the relationship between Christopher and Mycroft actually mattered in the first place. Now though he’s spoilt things with Christopher and she’ll be truly lucky if he trusts her again. She should never have started to confide in Mycroft. At the most she should have kept the conversation to Sherlock and then gone on her way once more. She doesn’t know why Mycroft Holmes of all people has made her open up. She chastises herself until she’s out in the open air again and Mycroft’s hand is touching at her elbow. She jerks away from him, but looks at him all the same. He lets go of her and fidgets with his umbrella. Nicola looks down. “I'm sorry. I'm sure that Christopher will be fine. He adores you. I'm sure that won’t ever change.” He cannot summon the words to say that he adores her too. He doesn’t even know how it had happened. Instead he just finds himself saying, “Perhaps I should stay out of things from now on? I seem to be getting in the way for you.” His eyes implore her not to let him go. 

 

She does so anyway, _Maybe you should._ It hurts for her to send it. She begins to shake her head. 

 

He thinks that she’s doing so just to be polite. “No,” he says heavily, “You’re right. Of course you are.” He tries to smile now and nod and not let her see his cracking façade. She nods back at him, the blue in her eyes a little faded, the amber piercing because this hurts more than it ever should considering how she’s just been feeling. She turns away. 

 

*

 

Mycroft considers texting Nicola that night. He knows that he’d said he’d leave things be and that’s what she wants, but he can’t help but feel uneasy about it all. He doesn’t though. Maybe if he had then Nicola wouldn't have left Dash with Mrs. Hudson and gone out again, but she probably would have. Her heart had felt like Christopher was calling to her and she’d had to follow. 

 

*

 

Dash knows that there’s something wrong. From almost the moment that Nicola leaves he lets out a long, profound whine. Mrs. Hudson shushes him and tells him to be a good boy. Thinking that he’ll settle down soon she carries on reading her car magazine at the table. Dash goes around and around in circles. Feeling sure that he’s just preparing to sit down Mrs. Hudson lets him get on with it. But Dash does not sit down. In fact he cannot relax at all. He goes across to the door and sends a pleading look Mrs. Hudson’s way. 

 

“She’ll be back soon dear,” Mrs. Hudson tells him, “Forgotten something at the shops is what she said and you know how they don’t appreciate your presence there.” She feels a prickle of unease. Nicola telling her that she’d forgotten something at the shops suggests that she’d been there previously that day and Mrs. Hudson knows that she couldn't have been because Dash had been with Nicola the whole day. Unless the young woman had left him with someone else? That new boyfriend of hers perhaps? Or she could have visited her parents, but usually she’d tell her such a thing because Mrs. Hudson likes to prepare a little basket of goodies and a reassuring letter for them if she can saying that she’s still keeping an eye on their daughter. Why only the other night she’d spoken to Judy on the phone and told her that she didn't know who Nicola was seeing, but that of course she’d tell her if she did. Something is different about this though. Nicola had, had a strange look in her eyes just before she’d left, an almost guilty one that was somehow filled with paranoia. She’d gone, before Mrs. Hudson had been able to ask her about it. Dash whines again and Mrs. Hudson looks at him. The dog usually hates being parted from Nicola that’s true. He’s very protective of her. But he seems even more out of sorts tonight. Then he begins scrabbling at the door, as if he wants to get out. Mrs. Hudson gets up at once. “Hey, don’t do that,” she says in a scornful sort of hushed tone, but the dog is frantic and pays her no heed. He whines and tries to get out even more fiercely. Thinking that he might settle down again if she just takes him out for a moment Mrs. Hudson opens the door. The dog bursts out into the hallway. His tail wags. He seems happy to have gotten further. But then, just as Mrs. Hudson had suspected he might, he heads straight for the front door. “One moment,” she says, clutching at her hip as she hurries to fetch Dash’s lead. With everything that’s going on she’d forgotten to take her evening soother. The lead is tangled by where everyone keeps their coats close to the front door. She reaches to pluck it off it, but then the front door opens. Mrs. Hudson barely manages to let out a shriek of warning, before the dog is off. He gets past John without any difficulty and though Sherlock makes a brave lunge for the dog’s collar Dash hunches low to the ground in order to escape him, before he takes off. His feet pound hard against the pavement. 

 

Sherlock only has to take one look at Mrs. Hudson’s face to know that something could be wrong with Nicola. “Come on!” he cries to John and the two head away from the sanctuary of 221B again. Sherlock hails down a taxi. They might be able to follow after Dash easier that way. But they've barely tailed after the dog, Sherlock’s bum slightly off the seat and his body leaning a little over John’s, as his eyes pick out the dog through other traffic and pedestrians when they get a call from Greg Lestrade. There’s another fire in progress. Sherlock, quick enough to deduce that whatever’s wrong with Nicola and the fire might be linked, tells the taxi driver to head straight to the scene. 

 

*

 

Mycroft, in his shirtsleeves, is pacing back and forth in his sitting room, absent-mindedly sipping at a glass of scotch, which his fingers are curled around when he hears a bark. He stops. Nothing. He dismisses it as a fabrication of his mind. He’d heard Dash bark so much earlier that his ears are probably still ringing from it all and his mind has been so much on Nicola in any case. He turns and makes to pace some more. Another bark. Mycroft knows that it cannot be in his imagination now. Hurrying across he slams what’s left of his scotch down upon the side table. The amber liquid rises up, before it sloshes back down again, landing on the ice like the sea against rocks. His dark blue tie flapping against his white shirt he races to the door. Is Nicola there? Has she come to perhaps say that she’d been a little too harsh earlier? Will he able to apologize to her in turn for making her relationship with Christopher more strained? How he’d love to come up with an alternative plan with her, to still be working with her. Hope rising inside his chest he flings the door open. It is only Dash there that he can see. He steps forward uncertainly. The dog seems wired, excited about something. He has seen the same symptoms in his brother, that bouncing about and the slightly crazed look that’s in his eyes whenever he’s on a case. But when the dog lunges forward Mycroft lets out a high-pitched cry and stumbles backwards further into the hallway. Thinking that the dog’s finally lost it and is attacking him he raises a hand up to his face in defence. He hadn’t made Nicola that upset surely? But Dash has simply grabbed onto the shirt cuff of his other hand and is attempting to gently pull him forwards. 

 

Sensing that he might be safer than he’d previously thought he was Mycroft lowers his hand. “What is it?” he asks. “Where’s Nicola?” He only has a chance to feel stupid about talking to a dog for a moment however because the little frustrated and rigorous growls that Dash makes as he tugs upon his arm alert him to what he’s trying to do. He grabs his keys from the sideboard and Dash lets go of him. The dog does a few little bounces as Mycroft frantically locks up and then he’s shoving his keys back into his trouser pocket and letting the dog lead him forwards. 

 

He summons a taxi and allows Dash to guide them outside of it. Once Mycroft has a feeling for where they’re heading for he gets out and runs, knowing that as slow as he is he’ll surely be able to get there quicker than the taxi in all the traffic would have. Nicola’s face looms hazily in his mind, her features indistinct. Dash barks and leads him straight like an arrow to the scene of the fire. 

 

Mycroft skids to a stop on the pavement opposite as soon as he sees the crackling flames in one part of Christopher’s school building. It looks like it’s starting to spread. His mouth opens, mind going back to the horror of his ancestral home and his worst nightmares. He can see the thick smoke around the flames, feel like he’s choking and his eyes sting just from the memory of it all. His body buckles somewhat and with a wheeze he returns to the present to find that his body is half-bent and Dash, already halfway across the road, is looking back at him as if to ask what he’s waiting for, head cocked curiously. Mycroft coughs now and manages to straighten. He stares at the crackling flames transfixed. In his head he can hear his mother and father’s shouts, their urging for them all to get out of there and to safety again. Sherlock had been sleeping, Mycroft remembers. He’d scooped his brother up the best that he could and passed him to his father. Dash barks and ahead of him is the school, not his sister with her chilling eyes. He wants to go in there, especially if that’s where Nicola is and she might need him, but he’s too afraid to. He looks around nervously, wanting someone else to help, but no one is available. Dash barks again and gives him a very judgemental look. If he were a human then his eyebrow would have been raised. _‘This is it. This is the moment,’_ he seems to be saying. Whilst he breathes feverishly Mycroft’s foot shakily steps off of the pavement and into the road. Then, before he can think any more he plunges forwards, Dash romping ahead.

 

**Some time earlier…**

 

Nicola’s feet take her to the school Christopher attends as if she was always meant to go there. As she comes to a stop on the pavement opposite the school, she sees a small, sleek figure that could only be Christopher’s slipping inside. She can see even from this distance that he looks determined about something and her mouth, again not doing what she wants it to _when_ she wants, nearly makes to call out his name. She stops it just in time. Then scurries across and goes into the school herself. The alarm system seems to be off. Perhaps the cleaners are there? 

 

It takes her a while to find him once she’s inside and it takes every inch of effort, what with her prickling skin and heart so loud that she can hear it in her eardrums, for her to keep putting one foot in front of the other. She can’t hear any sign of cleaners, let alone _see_ any, but she’s terrified of getting caught. Shadows jump out at her. One comes from what she quickly works out is the Art room going from the work that is on display behind glass outside of the room and she moves inside there instinctively. 

 

It’s only when she sees Christopher standing by one of the large white tables, holding a can of white spirit and unlit matches-more of them lie in a box upon the table-that she realizes that she probably should have just peered in there first and not been so reckless. Her mind thinks of Mycroft for a moment now. He’d be horrified if he could see her. She promises herself that she’ll make it up to him if she ever gets out of there. 

 

“Don’t come near me!” Christopher yells at her, pulling her firmly back in the present. Some of the white spirit sloshes over and spills onto the floor. They both look at it for a moment, before Nicola raises her hands submissively as Christopher’s gaze goes back to her. “I trusted you! You were supposed to believe me! You and Mycroft both were! But instead you were planning how you could take me away!” 

 

_‘I know,’_ is what she wants to say. _‘I know that I’ve let you down, that both Mycroft and I have, and I know too that the world is a terrifying place, but whatever happens now we will get through it. You just need to put everything down and come towards me. I’ve managed to get this far, largely thanks to Dash, and you can get better with Dash’s help too. We’ll share him. You can borrow Dash whenever you like just as long as you listen to me now.’_

 

But Christopher can see a lot of what Nicola wants to tell him through her eyes and he doesn’t want to hear any of it. “They took me away!” he bawls, tears hot and damp running down his face. She feels helpless. “They took me away and I never saw Mummy again! I tried to be good! I thought it would be okay! But she’s not there! She hasn’t come back for me and she’s not going to if I leave here! Is she?” Nicola gets it in that instant. Christopher would probably be burning down where Mycroft and she both live if he knew where those places were. He’d probably be taking it out on their properties because he thinks that they've betrayed him. That they’re going to make him go further away again when he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong to be where he is in the first place. The school is the one location that binds them all and the final place that Christopher can take out his frustration on. “A-And now”- she knows what he’s about to do the split-second before he does it. He sloshes the white spirit everywhere and Nicola moves forwards, a cry nearly being ripped out of her throat as she does so and one hand outstretched pleadingly. With a wild look of panic about him Christopher grabs the box of matches and lights the one that he’s holding. Nicola manages a strangled yell as the match falls in a spinning motion to the floor. In the seconds before it hits the white spirit she bridges the gap between them and spins Christopher away from there, lifting him up into the air. Some of the flames catch onto her trousers as she does so and she stamps them out with a feverish sort of panic and moves further away once more. 

 

“No! _No!”_ Christopher yells, shaking his head wildly now and kicking out at her until she’s forced to lower him to the floor. He sits there with his legs off to one side of him and she feels terrified when she notices how quickly the orange flames have jumped up around the room. They’re already spreading and licking at the tables. They chew up the art that’s drying-pictures of families and sunny days and hope-as they hang on a line. Nicola tries to grab onto Christopher, but he wriggles away from her. The room feels hot. Are they going to die there because of one stupid mistake? Tears from the smoke and desperation that she’s feeling prick at her eyes. They can’t die here. She can’t _let_ Christopher die here. 

 

_“Christopher…”_ she wheezes, that one word like a lever that she has to pull very hard to get up out of her, but the boy looks casual outwardly. Up close though she can see the tears that are rolling down his eyes and the way that his body is beginning to tremble. No matter how angry he’d been he hadn’t wanted any of this. 

 

She gets him to his feet again and clenches onto his hand tightly. _‘We’re going to get out of here.’_ She tries to convey that message with her eyes. Sniffing a little pathetically Christopher nods, trusting her now because he has no choice. 

 

She turns and tries to make it towards the door, but before she can take more than a couple of steps there are a few pops and booms as the fire reaches more flammable substances in one of the cupboards. A very large bang that deafens her. Nicola barely even notices as Christopher and her go flying because her whole world becomes a blur and then black. 

 

*

 

It must only be a few minutes, if that, that go by, but when Nicola wakes the room is thick with smoke and flames and she can barely breathe. Her nostrils flare in her attempts to. She rouses with a cough. It is only then that she realizes her head had been on Christopher’s lap, there is a stinging cut on the side of her face-all bloody and sticky when she touches her fingers to it-and Christopher has been stroking at her hair. That feels odd too. He squeaks when Nicola gets up and her whole head spins. She looks back at him. His face is pale. They’re huddled by the side of the wall. He must have dragged her there unless they’d been launched that far. She really doesn’t remember anything. Christopher clings onto her top with his little hands, desperate, all anger faded from him. She has been forgiven and will be further so if she can get them out of there. His hands and face are speckled with blood. It must be hers though Nicola realizes because she can’t see any outward sign of injury on him. She has to get him out of there. She tries to stagger to her feet again, but ends up rocking back to the floor. 

 

That’s when she hears it-one of the most beautiful sounds of all. “Nicola!” Mycroft’s calling her name amongst a few hacking, muffled coughs. _“Nicola!”_

 

Her heart leaps with hope and she wants to call back, she feels a swelling of something in her belly with the need to, but once more her voice is stuck. She looks at Christopher and she can see from his shining eyes that he knows it’s Mycroft too and feels the same way she does. She gestures at the door. She has gotten him this far and Mycroft will have to get him out the rest of the way because she knows that she’ll only slow him down. He needs to get out of there and with his uninjured body he’ll do so far more quickly. She’ll _really_ have to hobble for it. Christopher shakes his head. He won’t leave her. Nicola feels both touched that the earlier friction between them is forgotten, but frustrated. He needs to get out of there. Making another effort she clambers to her feet again. She’ll have to get him to Mycroft herself. Her legs feel like jelly. Christopher stands too and she pushes his body to the wall with the back of hers, so that she can shield him. Coughing she tries to blink back the tears that are being caused by the smoke as she studies the room. Flames are close to the door, but she has to act. Reaching for Christopher’s small hand Nicola makes to tug him forwards, but again they've barely taken a couple of small steps, before she hears a loud creaking sound coming from somewhere. The _roof._ She looks up. The tiles from the roof are coming undone. They’re peeling back as the flames infiltrate them. She opens her mouth now, figuring out another plan. But then two things happen at the same time. Mycroft and Dash enter the room, the former exclaiming a little at the hot door, and the closest light fixing, only a few feet away from Nicola and Christopher, loses its first thread. Scared Nicola retreats and pushes Christopher back against the wall again. Dash makes his way over to them. Nicola is glad to see him and Christopher lets out a little gurgle. Part of Nicola’s focus is still on the light fixing as her gaze locks with Mycroft’s. He’s partly covering his mouth with his sleeve. His hair looks singed and his cheeks are smeared in black. But when Nicola looks at him she knows in that instant, as soon as that flicker of relief crosses his face at having found them that he’s going to come across. That there’s no way that he won’t do so. Out of the corner of her eye Nicola can see the light fixing begin to tilt perilously downwards. She wants to scream. There are words of fear, coloured in blue, that stretch all the way up from her stomach, but they won’t go up any higher than that. She wants to yell at Mycroft not to come any closer to her, for he must save himself, but she can’t even point, so rigid in fright that she is, and Christopher is so hidden by her that he can’t even see what is going on, though his breaths gulp in panic. Mycroft keeps on coming, picking his way carefully amongst the flames, his mouth breathless, but his eyes seeking out Nicola in relief all the time, as if to say that he is almost there. Nicola knows it and he knows it then. If he makes it to them then everything will be all right. But still the light fixing creaks. Mycroft is so close-an arms length away-when it happens. The light fixing falls with an almighty crash and part of the roof comes tumbling down with it. Before Nicola knows what she’s doing she’s half-turning, cupping Christopher’s head to her chest. She’s trembling, Christopher’s trembling and suddenly there’s someone else trembling there too. Someone else shielding them both from all the dust and the flames, which have grown even taller and fiercer, encouraged by the chaos and the fresher air that’s coming in. Mycroft’s just behind Nicola, the length of his body pressed tightly against hers, one arm shielding Christopher and her across their waists and his head protectively ducked to cover Nicola’s. He lifts it up and kisses at her hair and she takes comfort from his presence for one moment, before she realizes that they still have some way to being out of there. As they come undone from one another Christopher points at his throat. He’s struggling to breathe. Mycroft gestures that they need to get out of there. Nicola nods and Dash, like he always has for all of them, takes charge. He picks out a careful path from where they are to the door. Nicola follows her trusted companion, her hands on Christopher’s shoulders who she pushes slowly in front of her. Mycroft’s hands are upon her shoulders. Their bodies are so close together that the three of them could practically be in the process of being melded into one. The flames seem to sear them together. They leave the room and all three of them break away from each other momentarily and burst into a coughing fit. They’re loud, but the fire is louder. It’s moving along the hallway, but it’s still strongest at its source. Dash seems anxious for them to get going and they all step back into line again and move forwards, this time with linked hands. 

 

Somehow, weaving through bits of rubble and patches of fire, they get out of the building and an explosion of sound and colour hits them. Flashing blue lights from all three emergency services, the shouts of firemen directing where the water is needed the most, the roar of the flames and closer still Sherlock Holmes in the middle of a diatribe about why a rescue mission should be launched for Nicola and Dash right away as he speaks to both the Chief Fire Officer and Greg Lestrade, who seems to have done a good job in keeping Sherlock out from the building itself. Nicola knows that Mycroft will be grateful for it. A shaken looking cleaner who seems unaffected by the flames and smoke and so must have been in another part of the building when the fire had broken out also stands nearby. Sherlock breaks off as the focus shifts onto the four newcomers and people begin to come from all directions. Nicola only takes a moment to register the surprise on Sherlock’s face at seeing his brother there, before the shock of her lungs receiving fresher, cleaner air hits her and she starts frantically to cough again. Mycroft, his eyes visibly watering and his throat itchy, ushers both Nicola and Christopher forwards now. The boy has started coughing too and both he and Nicola seem quite unable to stop. 

 

“Get them help,” Mycroft says in a raspy tone and John starts out of his own shock at wondering about the eldest Holmes brother’s involvement and pulls both Nicola and Christopher to the awaiting paramedics. 

 

Nicola looks back over her shoulder at Mycroft and he nods, reassuring her with a glance that he’ll be right behind them. Sherlock notices the exchange and his eyes narrow. His mind begins to wonder. He’d never considered his brother as Nicola’s potential boyfriend before, but _now-_

 

“Sir? If you could please also come this way?” one of the paramedics-a woman with chestnut hair tied back in a ponytail and green eyes-tries to encourage Mycroft forwards. 

 

“I’ll save my questioning for later,” Sherlock decides, still eyeing his brother with some suspicion. 

 

“How kind of you,” Mycroft quips, using humour to fend off the way that his body has begun to tremble all over and blinking a little, before he looks at his younger sibling rather intently. “If you could also try and delay the police’s interrogation of Nicola and Christopher”-Sherlock notes the tender use of first names-“Whilst they recover then that would also be most appreciated.” With that Mycroft walks off, nodding to the paramedic who had summoned him as if she is another one of his orderlies. 

 

*

 

Nicola doesn’t know when she loses consciousness. All she knows is that one moment she’s on a gurney in the ambulance and there’s a hazy face of a paramedic hovering over her, her mouth open, but no words reaching Nicola’s ears, and then the next thing she knows is that she’s waking up to bright lights and white above her and people all around. That’s all that she notices, before with a groan she slips under again, Mycroft’s name upon her lips.


	7. At The Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally understands something.

Mycroft endures his health check-up at the hospital with the grace of a grumpy old man, before he springs up as quickly as he can when it’s deemed that there’s no long-term damage. He sets about work at once-anything to keep busy and stop himself from thinking about everything that has just happened-arranging private rooms for Nicola and Christopher and sending a message off to his assistant Anthea. He has to use Sherlock’s mobile phone since his own had been destroyed in the heat of the fire. On the phone he tells Anthea to find out the name of the children’s home that Christopher’s in, advises her that it might be wise to co-ordinate with the police on this since the home are probably already aware that Christopher is gone and have reported him missing. At least Mycroft _hopes_ that they have. He also tells her to inform the home that Christopher will be looked after and for them not to worry. If they need any more details on _who_ Nicola and he are to feel certain of this then they can get in touch with Christopher’s teacher. She’ll vouch for them he feels sure. The last thing he tells her is to get a new phone for him with all the contacts and such that he had, had on his previous one and to deliver it to him at the hospital as soon as possible. Anthea says that, that will all be carried out in her usually efficient tone and Mycroft is glad that she at least knows how to hide her surprise. John Watson doesn’t and is staring at Mycroft now as he finishes his call in the waiting room-Mycroft had considered making it elsewhere, before he’d decided that the pull of any news that might come about Nicola and Christopher was too great to chance missing. Now John looks back and forth between Sherlock and his brother, as if to ask whether Sherlock is able to witness this too. Sherlock accepts John’s glances with a steady gaze. But even when Mycroft comes off his phone and sinks into the closest chair, coughing a little, Sherlock does not begin the assault of questioning on him. Instead he just takes his phone back quietly and retreats to his chair again. He senses that this is not the time to start asking things what with the fact that Mycroft is looking more tired than he has ever seen him do so before and is apparently in a state of delayed shock if the fact that he hasn’t made to brush any of the dust and grime off his trousers is anything to go by. His white shirt is in a holey state of disarray, revealing the fine dark strands of chest hair beneath, and could almost be mistaken for lace. He’s still got black stains upon his face. His eyes stare at the white wall unseeingly. He looks like he has been in the fire for days, not mere minutes. _No,_ Sherlock senses that the time isn’t right now, but still he observes, his mind ticking, eyes watching as Mycroft scrapes a weary hand across his face, which sends him coughing again. Watches as his brother’s nose wrinkles up as some of the dirt comes off onto his fingers, before he lets out a little huff and scrapes it against the knee of his trousers, barely noticing as more dirt comes onto his skin in the process. He watches as his brother’s blue eyes keep glancing at the clock and how his mouth sighs every time that he realizes only another minute has passed. 

 

Finally a nurse enters the room. Thin and short with tied up black hair and brown eyes she says that though Christopher won’t be able to be seen by any of them until the police have questioned him-this agitates Mycroft a little and he only grows more mollified at hearing that the boy is asleep and none the wiser to the visitors that he won’t be receiving-Nicola is asleep in her room and able to receive visitors. Sherlock and John are particularly keen to see her and follow the nurse with some vigour in their step. Mycroft wants to see Nicola of course, but feels afraid to suddenly. Afraid of what she might look like. Afraid of how he might react if he should look at her and see that he hasn’t done enough to protect her. If there will be long-term damage…if she won’t be able to speak all the more then it will be his fault. He lingers behind. Sherlock shoots him another suspicious look over his shoulder. Mycroft turns his head off to one side. 

 

They reach Nicola’s room about two thirds of the way down the corridor and the nurse holds the door open for them. Sherlock and John go through at once, but Mycroft hesitates. 

 

“She’s in a stable condition,” the nurse tells him kindly when he just stops upon the threshold and doesn’t go in properly, so she can’t close the door. 

 

He glances at her. His lips rub together. He doesn’t know what to say. “And will she-?” his mouth starts to venture with no real grasp of what route he is trying to go down. Suddenly he wishes that his umbrella were with him so that he could hold onto it. 

 

Her smile of reassurance grows. This stranger it seems can even tell of his affection for Nicola. “There’s absolutely no reason why she shouldn't make a full recovery.”

 

Feeling bolder at that Mycroft steps inside the room, moving his gaze away from her just in time to see Sherlock and John finishing exchanging a glance that is full of raised eyebrows from John’s side and further suspicion from Sherlock’s, as they stand on the furthest side of Nicola’s bed. Mycroft’s feet go forwards. The nurse closes the door, leaving them alone with Nicola and Mycroft’s tentative eyes go to Nicola at last as he stops beside her bedside. He lets out a little breath. His hands feel too large, his body too tall and too clumsy. Once again he feels afraid of breaking her. She’s sleeping now in bed. She looks like she has more blonde highlights in her hair because of all the dust, whilst the cut that had been bloody earlier is stitched up and her eyes are shut serenely. He wants to cover her body with his and swear an oath of protection to her. His eyes go to the hand of Nicola’s that is closest to him. It is full of little cuts. It looks so small and delicate and all of that along with the way it is curled up slightly makes Mycroft want to cradle it in between both of his. But he is worried about disturbing her, about upsetting her somehow just like he’d managed to earlier and disrupting the feeble peace that her body now seems to have achieved. Afraid that his hands, as clumsy as they are, would not be able to hold onto Nicola’s properly and that hers would just slip right out of them. He doesn’t make to grasp at her hand. He just stands there. Once more Sherlock looks at him.

 

Finally Mycroft looks up and a thought comes to him suddenly. “The _dog?”_ He looks around now, as if to check whether the creature who seems to have disliked him, but who had nonetheless trusted him enough to go to Nicola’s aid, might have snuck in somehow. 

 

“Tied up outside,” Sherlock says seriously, seeing even more by Mycroft checking around for Dash just how out of sorts his brother is. Mycroft latches onto his face hazily in a daze. “There seems to be some damage to his paws, but he seemed to be sprightly enough. Now that everything’s been sorted out more John can take him to a vet and then on to Mrs. Hudson’s.” John gives Sherlock a look. “I would do it myself of course,” Sherlock goes on and there’s a bit of an edge to his tone now, “But I want to be here when Nicola wakes up.” 

 

“Has it ever occurred to you that _I’d_ like to be here when Nicola wakes up too?” John asks him with some exasperation in his tone. 

 

Sherlock’s not looking at him. His focus is fully on his brother and Mycroft knows that Sherlock wants to get to the bottom of what his relationship with Nicola is. Until then he senses that Sherlock is not going to leave the pair of them in a position where they can be alone together. The thought frustrates him, but he knows better than to debate the point. It will only make things worse and its been a bad enough day already. Instead he looks to John almost pleadingly. “If you could sort the matter of the dog out Dr. Watson then it would be most appreciated. He is too important to risk losing now. Nicola would hate it if anything were to happen to him and she deserves better than that.” 

 

Once more John looks surprised by Mycroft’s words. His eyes go to Sherlock, but Sherlock is still fixated on Mycroft and he only turns his gaze away from his brother for a moment to give John a look that says, _‘Well? What are you waiting for?’_ He quirks one eyebrow up at him, before he looks back at his brother. “All right,” John nods, his faltering gaze going back to Mycroft now, before he leaves the room. 

 

A tension, full and crackling like the flames they've not long ago left behind descends on the Holmes brothers as soon as the door closes behind John. Instinctively Mycroft’s hand at last touches at Nicola’s, curling around it, his fingers brushing tentatively at her skin, seeking reassurance like she tends to do with Dash and feeling slightly more confident from the low buzz he gets from such contact. Sherlock takes Nicola’s other hand more firmly, as if to say that Mycroft does not own her. 

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s been going on?” Sherlock asks, his voice hard. 

 

Mycroft’s eyes go from him to Nicola. “Nothing,” he says dully, his eyes taking in the slither of light that comes across from the blinds to rest upon Nicola’s cheek. It seems to bring the curve of it out more, highlight the gangliness and fragility of her. It is stupid, but even now, even now with Nicola lying there in the state that she is and even after everything that’s happened, one of the thoughts that filters through to him is the fact that she probably wishes that it had been Sherlock who’d rescued her from the fire. His mind cannot help it and taunts him by saying that she’d probably been disappointed when it had been him who had walked in there. How her heart must have tumbled! The more sensible side of him though acknowledges of course that there hadn’t been time for Nicola to feel much of anything but fear and a desperate need to get out of there. It doesn’t stop the bitter part of him from coming through though. The part of him that thinks even now that things will still get worse. “Nothing has been going on,” he says more firmly. He can sense that Sherlock’s annoyed with him, that his brother must think his words untrue, but Sherlock thankfully does not push the matter. Instead both brothers let go of Nicola’s hands and Mycroft moves around, so that he and his brother can sit on the same side as they wait and watch, looking across at Nicola occasionally, but more often than not caught up in their own thoughts. 

 

Anthea is the first to interrupt them with the delivery of Mycroft’s new phone, before she goes on her way again. Then John returns, saying that Dash will have to have cream rubbed into his paws twice daily, but other than that he is unharmed. He’s currently resting up at Mrs. Hudson’s, missing his owner. They've dragged his basket from Nicola’s apartment into hers to make him more comfortable. Mrs. Hudson has also called Nicola’s parents and they are on their way to the hospital. Both brothers respond to all the information with nothing more than a grunt and a bit of a nod. John, seeing that nothing has been resolved between the two men in his absence, grows quiet and joins them on that side of the bed instead. 

 

Standing next to where Mycroft’s sat, he murmurs, “Has anything-?” as he looks down at Nicola. 

 

 _“No,”_ Mycroft breathes softly and the quiet timbre of his voice is enough to get Sherlock and John exchanging another significant look again. 

 

They don’t have long to do so however because a sharp breath escapes Nicola’s lips, followed by a bit of a groan that draws all their attentions to her. Her hands shift against the bed sheet, her bent fingers pressing further against their depths. Sherlock, who is the closest to her, rises to his feet. Mycroft is only a second behind him and leans forwards, his breath clenching tight in his chest as he observes how Nicola’s face suddenly scrunches up in pain. John looks around them both as finally Nicola’s eyes flutter open. She releases a long breath. 

 

“Thank God,” Sherlock exclaims at the same time that Mycroft lets out a low, _“Oh,”_ of relief. The youngest Holmes brother swoops towards Nicola. As her body begins to lift off the bed his hands carefully go to her shoulders, his fingers curling against the gown that she’s been put in. He presses a rough kiss to her temple. 

 

She lets out a squeak of surprise, but Nicola’s eyes are not focusing on the consulting detective. They are roaming behind him, searching for someone and they still when they come to rest on Mycroft. _“Myc,”_ she manages to utter. It is the first time that Mycroft hasn’t minded having his name shortened and Sherlock pulls back from Nicola in surprise. Letting go of her his head turns towards his brother. 

 

Mycroft feels so grateful to have Nicola looking at him in that way. He had never expected to receive such a glance, especially after she’d just woken up and after how badly he’d messed things up earlier. His eyes shimmer with emotion and his heart only operates on every other beat. His shoulder pushes his brother away because he is only just realizing how very glad he is that she’s alive, only just realizing now how very much he loves her, like family and beyond. His arms go around her and she accepts his embrace willingly. “My sweet Nicky,” he murmurs, his breath dancing across her ear, “I thought I’d lost you.” Nicola whimpers in response, but it is enough. It is enough to have her hand tentatively brushing against his back. To have the press of her against him. The tickle of her short wispy hair upon his face. Mycroft thinks that if he could just have all those things forever more then everything would be all right. 

 

 _‘Dash?’_ she mouths as he pulls back from her, still cradling her with one arm, whilst his hand adjusts her hair. Her mouth is still full of the taste of smoke. 

 

“Is going to be perfectly all right.” He swipes the pad of his thumb reassuringly across her forehead. She looks up at him imploringly, wanting more. “There are a few cuts on his paws. I have not seen them myself, but he’s got some cream for them. He’s going to be fine,” he tells her. 

 

Her body slumps down a little in relief at that, but suddenly she’s arching up again and clutching tightly onto his hand. “Ch-Christopher?” She coughs his name out. Her mind wonders how she could have forgotten to ask about Christopher for so long. _‘Please tell me’-_ her eyes seem to say. 

 

“Relax Nicola,” Mycroft soothes, slightly alarmed by the feel of how panicked she’s getting. It is like Christopher in the café earlier, which feels like a lifetime ago now. She just can’t be settled. Her gown rustles against his clothes. He leans closer to her, brushing his cheek tenderly against hers and seeking her comfort as much as she seeks his. That familiar crackle of electricity passes between them. He has to keep reminding himself that she’s alive. “I have not been able to see him yet. The police wish to question him first, but he is alive and asleep. We can only hope that his dreams are peaceful ones.” 

 

She toys with her bottom lip in between her teeth. Her hand rubs at his in an anxious frustration as she looks around for some writing paper. Mycroft looks at her imploringly. Finally she mouths, _‘You must go and see him. He did not mean to start the fires. You must’-_

 

“Hush.” Mycroft takes her properly in his arms again and begins to rock her gently back and forth when she starts to splutter and cough against him. A few tears fall too. “He’s going to be fine. He _will_ be fine. We all will,” he croons into her ear, rubbing at her back. She clutches onto him as she tries to reap back control, burying her head into his shoulder, before she has to lift it up again. He stinks of smoke and that just brings everything back. Behind them John goggles at the shared intimacy that’s passing between Mycroft and Nicola, whilst Sherlock looks significantly less pleased. He’s getting a headache from all the strange behaviour being displayed by his brother today and longs for everything to be cleared up. He watches as Mycroft, with the fussing quality that he gets from their mother, helps Nicola drink a small amount of water, before he settles her down on the bed once more. 

 

Mycroft’s arms are just pulling back from Nicola when Greg Lestrade walks into the room. He too looks astonished by the sight before him, even looking as if he might be wondering whether he’s gotten into the right room or not! “Erm,” he says once everyone is looking his way. His hand jumps up to his silver hair, ruffling it up even more and making him look all the more boyish. “Er, Nicola’s parents are here. As for the police we've just had a word with Christopher. You were right.” He looks at Sherlock now, trying to ignore how Mycroft helps Nicola when she struggles to sit up. “He seems to have started the two fires for the reasons that you thought”-

 

Nicola waves for attention and tries to ask Mycroft for his phone non-verbally, not realizing that it had been damaged. She mouths something to Mycroft when he simply stares at her, _and,_ understanding her, he tells Greg, “He started them because they were places that weren’t safe to him any more.” Nicola slumps back a little in relief and Mycroft feels pleased to have gotten the right message across. Still, knowing that there are further concerns, he says, “I hope there was a responsible adult to act as Christopher’s support when this interview was being conducted?”

 

“Yes, he had his social worker”-

 

“And how many times has Christopher _seen_ his social worker?” Mycroft asks the man in dissatisfaction now. “It would have been much better if you could have waited and he could have had someone like Nicola or I”-

 

“As I'm sure you can appreciate,” Greg says, grounding himself and sounding more annoyed with Mycroft’s interruptions, “It’s important that we draw this case to a conclusion as soon as possible. The local community have been very concerned by”-

 

 _“ 'The local community?'”_ Mycroft rages, only shifting and calming down a little when Nicola releases a sound and grasps at his hand sending sparks through it like embers on a flint. He looks down at her momentarily, before he looks back up at Greg again. Nicola runs the tips of her fingers lightly over Mycroft’s knuckles in circular motions, continuing the sparks and whilst Mycroft nearly shivers and before his brain can short-circuit he insists, “It’ s all right then for you to cause mental trauma to a boy who has had enough of that sort of thing already as long as the local community can sleep cosy in their beds at night?” He is aware of the irony of him saying such a thing-he has done pretty much the same thing by continuing to let his sister be incarcerated, but he cannot help it. He feels such a strong urge to protect Christopher and Nicola right now that it’s overriding all common sense. 

 

Nicola seems to grasp that he’s behaving irrationally too, though of course she doesn’t know why. She taps at his hand. He swats it beneath his and awaits Greg’s answer. 

 

“Of course we don’t wish to do anyone any harm,” Greg huffs, looking frustrated, “We’re just doing our jobs and in any case I should imagine that it’s much better for his mental health to get all this out now, so that a line can hopefully be drawn underneath it.” 

 

“Ignore him Gavin. He’s been acting very odd today,” Sherlock says and Greg bristles as Sherlock gets his name wrong, _again._ The youngest Holmes sends his brother a questioning look and Mycroft huffs out a breath. 

 

Sherlock’s words are soon forgotten though as Nicola manages to croak, “What’s going to happen to him?” She feels safer with Mycroft near, but apprehensive about what might be awaiting Christopher. 

 

“I don’t know.” Greg looks at her. He runs a hand through his hair. “What he’s done is very serious. It’s lucky that no one’s been killed. But he’s not old enough to go to a proper prison.” Nicola looks aghast at just hearing the word ‘prison.’ Mycroft strokes at her back soothingly, but his face is serious as he looks at Greg. “I'm guessing a young offenders institute may be more likely.” 

 

Nicola looks distraught by the very notion. The idea of Christopher going to a place like that, a place full of young criminals where he does not belong, a place where he is guaranteed to not receive the love that he’s been lacking all this time and where he might fall even more off the rails because he’s bound to lash out through fear again, makes her feel ill. Mycroft crouches down beside her, looking at her worriedly. He can sense what she’s worried about. That she feels an institution would be the wrong place for Christopher. He feels it too. In this case it would not be appropriate. The boy needs to be free and with people like him. Mycroft feels guilty about his own mistake now with his sister. For that is what it had been. He knows it more clearly now, but cannot see any immediate way out of it. The pretence, he senses, must be kept up. He has gone too far. He rubs at Nicola’s hand to try and silently console them both. Greg, seeing Nicola’s distress, decides that it would be a good time to let her parents into the room. They enter in a flurry. 

 

“You’ll have to give us a statement Nicola. You too Mycroft,” Greg calls over the head of Nicola’s parents, before he leaves the room.

 

“Oh Nicola,” Judy swoops around, pushes Mycroft aside and takes ownership of her daughter’s hand, tidying Nicola’s gown up with her other. Nicola tries to shoot Mycroft an apologetic look, but her vision of the eldest Holmes is soon blocked by Harry who has got a half-smile on his tired face from seeing her. He touches at her hand, careful not to dislodge his wife’s, before he leans down and pecks her on the forehead. 

 

 _“Nic.”_ She smiles at him in a watery fashion. “Whatever were you thinking?” 

 

“She was trying to save a little boy who had gotten into some difficulty,” Mycroft murmurs now, not being able to help but respond. 

 

Judy looks at him, taking in his ragged, dusty clothing and the stains upon his skin. “And just exactly what was _your_ role in all of this?” she asks. 

 

“I-well”- Mycroft’s gaze goes to Nicola who opens her mouth feebly, dry lips parting. Judy might not see the significance of the gaze that they share, but Harry realizes something and curls a hand around his wife’s upper arm. 

 

“I'm sure he was just trying to help. _Weren't_ you?” He gives Mycroft a bit of a dark look. He doesn’t want to discuss things here and risk upsetting his daughter, but he _would_ like a word with the man at some point. 

 

“Well then,” Judy is gruff, she seems to realize that she’s a bit behind on things and looks around at them all piercingly, “We thank you for any help that you all might have given, but I think you should leave. She’s safe now.” Nicola begins to shake her head at once. 

 

Sherlock however says consideringly, “Yes, perhaps it’s time that we all gave Nicola some peace. In any case,” he pauses for emphasis now, “I think it’s time we had that chat brother dear.”

 

As her father shifts in interest Nicola looks between the two brothers, clearly confused. _‘Chat?’_ she mouths. 

 

“Nothing for you to worry about.” Mycroft catches her action. 

 

John begins to leave first, but before Sherlock and Mycroft can follow him Harry says, “That being said I’d quite like a word with you myself Mr. er”-

 

 _“Holmes,”_ Mycroft fills in for him when he realizes that the man’s eyes are upon him. Once more Nicola shakes her head, but is told off by her mother for being silly. Mycroft looks at the young woman. He feels he has so much that he needs to say to her, that he might even get out his feelings despite all the reasons for them not to be together, that maybe he even _should_ now, for he couldn't bear something like this to happen again and for him not to have said anything, but it will all have to wait for the time being. His eyes go to Harry. “Of course.” 

 

They leave the room. Sherlock goes further down the corridor with John, looking back at his brother every now and again, whilst Harry and Mycroft remain in a spot that’s closer to the door. 

 

“I didn't want to push the issue in there, but what exactly _is_ your relationship with my daughter?” Harry looks at the man keenly. 

 

“We’re”-Mycroft hesitates- _“Friends.”_ He hopes that, that is still true and that when Nicola has a chance to think about everything more she won’t turn her back on him and hold him responsible for the fire. _Still,_ she had treated him warmly just now and he is grateful for it. 

 

 _“Just_ friends?” Harry asks. 

 

 _“Yes.”_ Mycroft straightens. “I'm Sherlock’s brother Mycroft. _He”-_

 

“Lives in the flat above hers. Yes I know. Mrs. Hudson said when we first…” Harry trails off now. It seems to have been a very long time since they’d first gone to visit the flat and then dropped Nicola and all her things off. His daughter seems to have come a long way. He shakes off memories of the past now and returns to the present once more. “The thing is… _Mycroft,”_ Harry puts a hand upon one of Mycroft’s shoulders and peers back through the door where Judy, not to his surprise, seems to be upsetting Nicola, “I speak to my daughter every day. We have a good relationship, but though I can tell that she’s mostly been happy where she lives, _especially_ after being introduced to everyone no doubt”-here he gives Mycroft a look that says he might be more onto their relationship than Mycroft would like him to be-“She does not tell her mother or me everything.” He pauses consideringly now. Mycroft swallows as the man’s hand slips off his shoulder. “I do not know who she has been seeing or what would have made her behave the way she did tonight. She has always been into adventures it’s true, but”-

 

“The boy I mentioned before is one of the ones that Nicola and Dash help with their reading. He has elective mutism and Nicola has a fondness for him. Recently he’s been accused of starting a spate of fires and Nicola was trying to stop him from starting the one he did tonight. She was only trying to help Mr. Smythe.” 

 

 _“Hmm.”_ Harry takes all that in now, shifting his weight from one foot to another, whilst again he considers his daughter’s personality. “That would make more sense then. She has always had a strong moral code. She disapproves of me hunting. She hasn’t said anything to me about it of course, but she’s got a very strong stern look on her when she needs to.” Mycroft smiles suddenly at that, his heart twisting up in affection. “The thing is though,” Harry goes on now and Mycroft becomes more serious. “Even though she can do that and be the person who saves little boys from fires she’s…delicate. I'm assuming you’re aware of her condition?” Mycroft, barely breathing, just nods. “Then you should know that she’s not always as strong as she likes to appear.” Mycroft, who had seen it in that first meeting with her, nods once more. “Judy, my wife, and Nicola’s mother is astutely aware of this. Call it mother’s instinct or perhaps it was just the way that Judy saw how Nicola was after the burglary in our house that happened when Nicola was only sixteen. But she knows. It made Nicola want to move out. It wasn’t the same for her after that. I, whether rightly or wrongly wanted her to have that independence, whilst Judy did not. But now I fear that my wife, right at this very moment, would like for Nicola to return home and never leave the house again.” Mycroft swallows now and looks through the door himself. Nicola seems to be upset about something. She is shaking her head. Fear pulls at his heart. She cannot return home. Not be away from him now. Harry catches the slight glimmer of it on the other man’s face and decides something. “I'm sure though that with a word or two from me and once she settles down a bit again and realizes that Nicola will be all right she will agree for her to remain where she is.” Mycroft looks back at him, hopeful. “That being said however,” Harry continues, “I would like to have someone’s word, _your_ word since you seem to be a good enough friend to have gotten caught up in this fire too”-Mycroft looks embarrassed now-“That no matter what she goes through in life and however she should respond to it all she will have all the comfort and support that she needs from her friends. That she will not be abandoned by any of you. If you can, hand on your heart, promise me this, then I will be quite happy for her to stay where she is and go against my wife when she says otherwise. If I sense any doubt from you however”-

 

“Nicola will be safe with us. You have my word. I will do my utmost to protect her and always support her,” Mycroft tells him gravely. 

 

“That’s what I thought.” Harry stares at him for a moment, before he gives him a curt nod and goes back into Nicola’s private hospital room. Just before the door can close behind him however he looks back again and says, “Thank you Mycroft.” 

 

Mycroft isn’t sure whether he’s dismissing him or thanking him for helping his daughter in the fire earlier, but he just nods, stomach squirming a little when he realizes that he hasn’t told the man that he might have helped inadvertently cause the fire in the first place. 

 

*

 

Nicola reaches out for Harry as soon as he comes into the room. _“Daddy…”_ she croaks, and he can tell what’s just been said by looking into her eyes. 

 

“She will be coming back with us once she’s well enough to be out of here.” Judy fusses with her daughter’s bed sheet. 

 

 _“Nonsense,”_ Harry says briskly. 

 

“I beg your pardon?” Judy looks at him. 

 

“You heard what that man said.” Harry gestures to where Mycroft’s still outside of the room. “Our daughter was brave enough to save a little boy from a fire tonight. She’s independent and got a life of her own now.” He looks at his daughter, a twitch of a smile upon his face. “It would do her more damage than good for her to come back to the house now. You want to stay where you are, don’t you Nic?” Nicola nods as enthusiastically as she can now, happy that her father somehow seems to understand this fact and pleased that Mycroft might have made it so. “There we are then,” he says, as if everything’s settled. 

 

Judy looks downcast and stares at her daughter for a moment, before she reluctantly nods. Then she goes back to the bed sheet once more. “One thing I don’t understand,” she comments, trying to get the upper hand, “Is where your boyfriend is? Surely he should be by your bedside at a time like this?” 

 

“Oh, I think he’s here.” Harry smiles and Judy twists around to look at him. He ushers his wife into a standing position. Nicola looks at her father with some surprise. 

 

 _“Here?”_ Judy’s piercing gaze looks at Harry. “What do you mean _here?”_

 

“Why don’t we give Nicola some space hmm? Let her rest for a while?” He brushes past Judy and bends to peck Nicola on the forehead again, before he murmurs so that only she can hear, “I’ll try and introduce the idea of Mycroft to her slowly. Invite him around to ours for tea sometime.”

 

 _Mycroft?!_ Nicola feels stunned. Her father thinks _Mycroft-?_ But before she can correct him he’s pulling back from her, sending her a soft wink and steering Judy out of there. 

 

Sherlock watches as Harry and Judy exit the room, the former sending a bit of a nod to Mycroft who has been standing staring at the door with this odd look upon his face for a few minutes now. Sherlock nods at them in turn and then approaches his brother, leaving John behind. “What did her father want with you?” Mycroft does not reply, his eyes still on Nicola’s door. Sherlock tries further, “It wasn’t the sort of chat a prospective father-in-law has with someone was it?” 

 

“You must have inhaled some smoke too.” Mycroft looks at him. “Your brain seems to have been addled. Maybe you should go and have a check-up?” 

 

“Not addled enough to not realize what’s been going on here,” Sherlock counters. “You’ve been seeing her haven’t you? You’ve been her boyfriend for all of this time and you’ve both been hiding it from me.” He sounds incredulous. 

 

“That’s nonsense Sherlock.” Mycroft tries to move away from his brother, not liking the feelings that are creeping inside of him from discussing such a thing with Sherlock. Sherlock who Nicola has _truly_ been lusting after all this time. 

 

“Is it?” Sherlock pushes him back easily with one hand now. John sends them a look of concern from his point by the double-doors, which separate this section of corridor off from another. 

 

“Yes.” Mycroft looks down his nose at him. 

 

“Well, it makes perfect sense to me.” 

 

“How so?” Mycroft asks, as if they are merely discussing a case. 

 

“The first thing that Nicola did when I told her she would be assisting me on a case was tell her boyfriend. Who else would have been on the other end? Who else would have even _cared_ what case I was going on? The fact that she tried to obstruct it too should have told me all that I needed to know”-

 

“She was merely concerned about Christopher”- Mycroft attempts to interrupt. 

 

“It tells me that she was learning from you. No wonder she was starting to annoy me more,” Sherlock finishes pedantically. 

 

“This childish feud between us has to stop,” Mycroft says, feeling frustrated because he does not need Sherlock being difficult on tonight of all nights. “I will not have you unfairly attacking her just because of how you feel towards me. Nicola and I”-

 

 _“ ‘Nicola and I,’”_ Sherlock snorts. “Well I hope you’ll be very happy together. Clearly you deserve one another.” With that Sherlock whirls around, his scarf hanging slightly loose around his neck and his dark coat flapping. 

 

It’s this that annoys Mycroft most of all and he calls after him, “Don’t pretend that you do not care for her Sherlock.” He takes a couple of steps after his brother now. He won’t have Sherlock talking about Nicola like that, not when she loves him so. Slowly Sherlock turns around. “I have seen the way that you’ve been visiting her flat, heard of the violin serenades, the blanket that you leave to keep her warm”-

 

 _“Yeah?_ Well I’d reveal any bugs or cameras that you might have in her flat, before you do anything inappropriate together”-

 

“Oh honestly Sherlock,” Mycroft says as if such a thing is ridiculous, “That is never going to happen.” 

 

“Why isn’t it?” Sherlock pushes insolently. 

 

“BECAUSE SHE LOVES YOU NOT ME!” Mycroft roars, his hands slightly away from his sides as they curl into fists, his eyes wide, almost bulging. _‘Do you see?’_ they seem to say, _‘Do you see_ now _what I have been putting up with? Not only do you have friends, but you have the one woman who’-_ “She’s besotted with you,” Mycroft says more quietly in the saddest, most broken tone that Sherlock has ever heard. “And looking back I started to believe that she might be good for you, that she would be good for _anyone,_ how she genuinely cared, that no matter how it all might end up…she’d be there for you. I foolishly started to encourage her…” Sherlock’s face is full of questions now, but Mycroft cannot look at him. Nor everyone whose come to a sudden standstill to look their way. John does so too, but is too awkward to intervene. “We are acquaintances. Nothing more,” he says heavily. “I asked her to keep an eye on you, as you know”-he half-glances up at Sherlock, before he looks away again-“But I thought-I _believed-_ that your friendship with her might be moving along the lines of something different”-

 

“When have I ever been interested in that side of things? I’m married to my work,” Sherlock exclaims, hardly able to believe what he is hearing. 

 

Mycroft raises a hand. “Please,” he says, “Let me finish.” He looks quickly at his brother again. Sherlock nods. “The truth is that I don’t think that thought had occurred to her either, before I planted it there.” Sherlock lets out a mocking breath now and Mycroft feels duly chastised. His body is a mess of emotions. Part of him wishes that he had never made that suggestion to Nicola, but if he hadn’t then would all this have ever occurred? He doesn’t mean the fire of course, or all the mental distress that Nicola and Christopher have been put through on that night. He means that awkward hug on the playing field where it had been like two souls had joined together again. Every little smile she’d ever given him. The way that she’d laughed in that school and looked at him only recently. “She did some thinking of her own and decided that she _did_ view you in that way. It was when you defended her in front of Anderson and Donovan if you were wondering”-

 

“That must have made your day?” Sherlock asks mockingly. 

 

“I didn't see her in that way then. It was only…” Mycroft’s head lifts up in thought. 

 

 _“Only?”_ Sherlock pushes with raised eyebrows. 

 

“Only I suppose when I went to Christopher’s school to see the role that she played there that my feelings grew.” 

 

“Why did you go there?” Sherlock questions him now. 

 

“I was just intrigued.” Sherlock doesn’t look convinced. “Her passion for the role”-Sherlock rolls his eyes-“It was not like that”- _‘It was not anything sordid,’_ he wants to say, _‘All the interaction between Nicola and I has been beautiful.’_

 

“I’ve heard enough,” Sherlock decides. “Well,” he claps his brother on the shoulder, “You’ve made a fine mess of everything in your confusion brother dear, but I can assure you that I harbour no awkward feelings of any kind towards Nicola so she’s all yours”-

 

“The blanket?” Mycroft says, before he can stop himself. He knows it’s foolish of him, but he has to check. Love for Nicola or not he will not trample all over his brother. 

 

“I would do such a thing for Mrs. Hudson. Maybe even Molly, though she’d probably read too much into it just like you have.” Mycroft feels a blush forming upon his cheeks now. He really _has_ been stupid. “Talk to her,” Sherlock says, before he walks away towards John. But the idea of speaking about such a matter to Nicola does not appeal to Mycroft. She may have forgiven him for saying what he had to Christopher, or perhaps he’ll find out in a short space of time that she hasn’t, that she’ll be angry because of what had happened due to it, but her heart is still set on Sherlock. That he’s very much sure of. He moves away from her room. 

 

Inside the room Nicola’s mind is in a state of confusion. She’d heard Mycroft shouting something though she doesn’t know what or to whom it had been directed to. She hopes that it wasn’t towards her parents. She’s not sure about what her father had said, but she finds that she doesn’t particularly want Mycroft falling out with them. She’d felt so sure, for such a long while now, that it was Sherlock who she harboured feelings towards. Sherlock had defended her. She’d admired him even though he’d been loud and crazy and not always as pleasant to her of late. But to have the idea of Mycroft thrust in front of her suddenly. She doesn’t know what had given her father _that_ idea. Had it been something, which Mycroft had said? She finds that even more peculiar because he doesn’t seem like the type of man who would just go around declaring something like that. But she does know that it doesn’t feel exactly wrong either. When Sherlock had kissed her on the cheek that night she’d only had thoughts for Mycroft and on checking that he was all right. She hadn’t felt happy from Sherlock’s touch. Her skin hadn’t burnt from it. Whilst she’s been getting more and more comfortable around Mycroft all the time. She’d felt so relieved when he was all right and glad that he’d seemed to understand where her thoughts had been going. Not to mention that he’d updated her about Christopher and Dash. What a great support he has been! Not just then either, but mostly, she realizes, all along now really. He’d texted her and helped sift through her worries. Sat with her. Been interested in her. Sure at first he’d been motivated by protecting his brother she knows, but he’s done a lot of things since that early time that had gone far beyond that. Everything with Christopher, which he hadn’t had to do, but he had. And he’d been so gentle with her that night. She sighs a little. She’d felt safe knowing that he was there. Her eyes roam towards the door now, wishing that he would come in so she might know for certain-or more so at least-how she feels. He never does though. 

 

*

 

It’s Sherlock and not Mycroft who comes to see Nicola that following afternoon. She’s had some checks done and she’s hopeful that she’ll be able to be released the following morning. The nurses just want to keep an eye on her for one more night because she’d inhaled a lot of smoke and then that should be that hopefully. 

 

“Ah, I thought so,” Sherlock says as soon as he sees the way that Nicola’s body slumps down a little in disappointment when he enters. She raises an eyebrow at his words. “Mycroft told me of the way you feel.” She feels puzzled about why he might have done such a thing now. Could it have been some misguided attempt at giving her some happiness after what she’d been through yesterday? Maybe _that’s_ why he’d raised his voice? He’d been warning Sherlock to look after her. She feels warm at the thought. “Here was I thinking that I’d have to tell you I was married to my work, but my brother’s still got the wrong end of things hasn’t he? It’s _him.”_ He gives her a knowing smile now as he comes to sit by her bedside. 

 

“I'm sorry,” she says, finding it difficult to talk. She has a new phone that her father had gotten for her since her old one had gotten destroyed in the fire and she swipes it up from the bedside cabinet. Sherlock watches her patiently. _‘I don’t want to offend you or anything. It’s just the more I think about it the more I’m sure that I’ve just been thinking that I was in love with you this whole time,’_ she utilizes text-to-speech. 

 

“And Mycroft?” Sherlock questions. 

 

 _‘I think so. I think I’ve been falling in love with him.’_ She nods bashfully, suddenly worried whether the eldest Holmes will feel the same. She had been pretty cruel to him before the fire after all and though he’s been so caring ever since maybe once things settle down again he’ll keep his distance from her and want nothing more to do with her if that’s the way she’s going to be? She hopes not. She doesn’t know how she could live without him now. Even if it’s just him bossing her around and telling her to look after Sherlock. To not see him in any capacity, well, she’s pretty sure that would break her heart. 

 

“You’re worrying over nothing.” Sherlock touches at her hand. Feeling close to tears she hopes so. 

 

*

 

 **You’re really not the smart one if you think that Nicola loves me,** Sherlock texts his brother as he leaves the hospital, feeling better with the world. 

 

Mycroft rings him at once. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

 

“I mean brother dear that you really need to speak to Nicola because it might just result in your happiness.” A pause. “Please don’t make me repeat that.” 

 

“Did you upset her?” Mycroft is stern with him. 

 

“Have you not been listening? Far for it to be for me to stop you from wallowing in your own misery and from getting lost in the multitude of tunnels and bunkers that I know you have beneath your mind palace, but do you not _want_ to be happy?” Sherlock is exasperated. 

 

“I just want to know how upset Nicola was when you deemed fit to tell her that you don’t feel the same? She’s in a vulnerable state now Sherlock. You could have waited until she was out of hospital. Been more sensitive about the whole thing.” Like Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft feels that Nicola’s parents will surely kill him if the effects of Sherlock telling her what he had lead to anything severe. 

 

Sherlock lets out a loud groan now. Why does his brother have to be so dense sometimes? Why does he have to be so determined to be unhappy? “Just talk to her,” he tells him, before he disconnects the call. 

 

Mycroft is too nervous to go and do so straight away, but there is a bit of a bounce to his step as he goes about his business for the rest of the day. Is it really true? Has Nicola changed her mind? Seen enough not just to forgive him, but for even more? He wonders and wonders for the rest of the day.


	8. Meant to be You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft hesitates, but Nicola's already preparing for the next fight.

That following morning, still clinging onto the same desire that things might be getting better now, Mycroft pays a call to 221B. 

 

 _“Oh,”_ Mrs. Hudson says when she opens the door, “I'm afraid that your brother’s just popped out.”

 

 _“Actually,”_ Mycroft says, forcing a smile at her because he has always found Sherlock’s landlady to be rather tiresome, “It’s you that I’ve come to see Mrs. Hudson, or rather more precisely, Nicola’s dog Dash.” Mrs. Hudson looks even more astonished by that, but Mycroft forces his way inside, pushes past her and pulls his umbrella after him. He makes his way down the hallway and towards her flat with the pattering footsteps coming from behind him telling him that Mrs. Hudson is following. Brushing the bothersome beads that hang just beyond the door he spies Dash opposite, lying in his basket, which is made of a soft grey and white material. He knows that John had assured him that the creature was fine, but seeing him like this, in the position that he’s in, makes Mycroft feel strangely emotional. Mycroft leans his umbrella up against the wall by the door. Dash lifts his head up and gives a feeble wag of his tail. It catches against the edge of the basket. “Hello.” Mycroft goes across and crouches down by the dog. “Remember me?” Dash’s tail gives yet another wag and Mycroft knows for sure then that saving Nicola from the fire had been the ultimate test for him. If he’d failed that then Dash would have hated him for life, but now the old uncertainty between them seems to be mending for they have found a common purpose and that is to look after Nicola. Knowing that it will be safe to do so now Mycroft strokes gently at the dog’s fur. His fingers roam between the colours-black, tan and underneath a paler one-breaking the strands apart. Dash’s head goes back down again in submission. “The cream,” Mycroft says suddenly, clearing his throat and leaning back a little once he remembers about Mrs. Hudson’s presence. As he looks over his shoulder he sees that she’s hovering by the door, all twitching fingers and uncertain eyes as if she does not know what to do. “The cream,” he repeats, a little more loudly this time. Finally she moves and hands it over to him from where it had been on the sideboard. Dash lets out a little whine when Mycroft unscrews the cap. Mycroft runs his fingers soothingly across his fur again. He finds that it oddly calms him down in this unusual situation too, as if he can feel Nicola’s presence near by just through touching Dash. “Shh, no need for that.” One of his hands carefully goes to squirt out a blob of cream onto the other and then carefully, with his first hand, he grasps hold of one of the dog’s back paws, turning it gently and holding it just so, so that the pads are exposed. Dash makes a sound and shifts, his tongue lolling out of his mouth a little as he lies there with his head still down. “It might sting a little, but I promise that it won’t hurt any more than that.” He presses the cream to the underside of Dash’s paw slowly. The dog lets out a yelp and forces his foot away, before he allows it to slip into Mycroft’s hand. “That’s right. You need to get better don’t you? For Nicola?” His shoulders shake suddenly and tears prick at his eyes. He could have lost everything and he realizes that aside from his family everything is now Nicola and Dash. Perhaps even Christopher too. The strength of feeling he has suddenly scares him. He lets out a shuddery breath. Mrs. Hudson squeaks behind him. A muscle tightens in Mycroft’s jaw, _and,_ readying himself again, because he will not cry here and definitely not in Mrs. Hudson’s flat, he continues to apply the cream methodically to Dash. When he is finished he stands, popping the re-sealed cream back onto the sideboard. “I will return later,” he informs Mrs. Hudson soberly, turning back to her. “The giving of Dash’s medication will be in my hands until Nicola should get back here _and”-_ he looks briefly back at the dog now-“His coat looks a bit rough too, so perhaps I will give him a brush and a short walk if he’s feeling up for it, so if you could sort out the _ah,_ …relevant equipment ready for when I return?” His mouth opens and closes now, but deciding that will be all he nods, moves past her, grabs his umbrella and goes out of the building. 

 

“What a funny man,” Mrs. Hudson says to Dash, not knowing what to make of it all. The dog’s tail thumps against the floor as if he agrees. 

 

Mrs. Hudson finds Mycroft even more peculiar when he returns just shy of two hours later, carrying a large bouquet of bright yellow carnations over one arm, his umbrella over the crook of the other and a bag of groceries and bits and bobs in one hand. “I’ve just received a text from Sherlock,” he pants when she opens the door to him, “Apparently Nicola will be leaving hospital this afternoon. There is much to be done before then.” He bustles inside and then, apparently realizing a little too late that there might be a problem in his plan, turns back to Mrs. Hudson and asks, in a way that is more polite than she has ever seen him do so before, if he might have permission to go inside Nicola’s flat. Usually Mrs. Hudson would not have said yes to the request, especially to a man like him. Mycroft is infamous for his snooping after all, but this time she senses only good intentions coming from him so she nods, hoping that whatever he’s got planned will serve as a nice surprise for Nicola. He looks relieved now. She follows him into Nicola’s flat and just watches how he hesitates there for a moment, looking around at the dishes waiting to be dried by the sink and at the wonky height of the books in the small, white bookshelf. Mycroft smiles a little at the adventure books he spies there and he wants to do what he’s got planned for Nicola even more. He takes a couple of steps forwards. “Yes.” He deposits everything that he’s carrying down on the counters of the kitchenette and looks around, this time more intently. “I think I’ll do a bit of light cleaning first. Do you er-do you know where Nicola keeps her cleaning products? Hoover, that sort of thing? Or perhaps you all keep them in one area and share them between you?” He realizes that though he is very familiar with how his brother lives some information-more particularly because of the fact that Sherlock tends to leave the cleaning for others-has escaped him. “I do not want her to think that I’ve been nosy,” he says now when Mrs. Hudson carries on staring at him. “I only wish to go where I'm needed.” If their relationship is to progress then it is vital for Nicola to see him in a good light or things will not work out at all. 

 

Mrs. Hudson looks at him suddenly as if to ask who he is and what he’s done with the real Mycroft Holmes. Suddenly it hits her. “Oh my gosh!” She raises her fingers to her mouth now and Mycroft looks at her with a furrowed brow. “It’s you isn’t it?” Mycroft shifts his position, beginning to get a sense of what she might mean, but feeling uncomfortable about it all the same. “You’re Nicola’s boyfriend!” She looks taken aback by the idea. “Well I never.” She releases a little titter. 

 

Mycroft feels both bashful and suddenly defensive. “Would that be such a strange idea?” His hopes begin to tumble inside his chest. 

 

Mrs. Hudson shakes her head though her eyes tell him quite the opposite. “No, it’s just, you’re you.” She gestures at the length of him. 

 

Mycroft reddens all the more at that. He clears his throat a little. “Well…in any case you don’t have to worry about it not working out Mrs. Hudson because Nicola and I are not together.” Mrs. Hudson looks at him with raised eyebrows. She can see his flushed face as clearly as anyone else can. “We’re friends, but we have not been dating each other no.” He gives an odd little laugh suddenly. “I fear that between us Nicola and I have made a lot of people draw some very false conclusions lately.” She looks at him as if she doesn’t have any clue of what he’s blabbering on about. “In any case”-Mycroft adjusts his cuffs-“I thought it would be appropriate if I came in to keep things ticking over. Sherlock can hardly be relied on after all and Dr. Watson’s at the surgery today. _You’re”-_ he breaks off suddenly. 

 

Mrs. Hudson knows that he’d been about to call her old and gives him a warning look. “I think I better leave you to it, before anything comes out of your mouth that you might regret Mr. Holmes,” she nods at him, bustling off towards the door. “But don’t think that I'm too old to have worked out that you’re not doing this merely to help.” Mycroft gulps. “I know what you’re doing this in the hopes of and I am warning you Mycroft Holmes that you better take care of her or you’ll have a whole host of angry people after you.” 

 

“I will,” he says, swallowing. 

 

“Oh, and by the way the hoover’s in the cupboard beneath the stairs.” She jerks her thumb back. “We share everything though aside from Nicola I'm the only one who seems to make use of them.” She decides not to tell him that he’ll have to use various nozzles if he wants to do a good job. Some things have to be found out by themselves. Mycroft, none the wiser, nods his thanks and Mrs. Hudson leaves.

 

He sets to work, but as he does so his mind can’t help but think. Maybe Mrs. Hudson had been right. He does think that there are some similarities between Nicola and him. They are both quite quiet and studious and though she’s more for running about than he is they both value words and use them precisely. Neither of them seem to waste them when they speak, but perhaps that is more down to her condition than anything else. Besides there is the age-gap. Though Mrs. Hudson and Nicola’s father had been kind enough not to say anything about that and Mycroft knows that it wouldn't even come into the sphere of Sherlock’s protestations he cannot see Nicola’s mother doing the same. Perhaps if they tried Nicola and he would even find it an issue? He likes to think that it would not become so, but he doesn’t wish to fill himself with false hope or end up hurting Nicola any more than he already has if it did. Then of course there’s the fact that he should be trying to stay focused and keep an eye on his brother, not be gallivanting off with someone. He thinks of the dream now he’d had about a time that seems so long ago. Hadn't his mother encouraged him to have more of a life? Hadn't she done so in reality too? Told him to stop lugging around such heavy books, to _literally_ lighten up? Then, and even more importantly, Sherlock might have got it wrong. Nicola might still be after Sherlock or anyone in fact who’s not Mycroft. She might just think they’re better off as friends. Talking himself out of it he looks around now. The room is a little cleaner and nicer, but it looks too _romantic_ and Mycroft suddenly thinks that him doing this is terribly inappropriate. Nicola has just survived a fire and they’re both still worried about little Christopher. Now is not a good time to be suggesting anything else. He is overstepping here and not being aware of her feelings and the air is too close suddenly with Nicola’s things all around him. He hurries out of there and escapes to take Dash on a walk as soon as he can. He can tell that Mrs. Hudson knows that there’s something wrong with him, but he doesn’t give himself the chance to stop and explain. Not that he would to her in any case. Instead he bursts out of the main door with Dash on a lead and sucks in a large breath. Dash looks at him somewhat understandingly and sniffs at the air. 

 

It is not until they get to the park and are strolling along tidily next to one another that Mycroft begins to speak. “Do you think she feels that way about me?” his voice is soft, low. It barely brushes against the air. “I thought, back at the school, the first time that perhaps…when she embraced me I felt something. I hoped that she _might”-_ he shakes his head. He finds for once that he is struggling to get his words out and make sense of it all. “But she was so set on Sherlock and there are so many other different things that I have to consider.” Dash makes a sound that Mycroft can only take as agreement. Mycroft goes on now, “Even if she has, for whatever reason, decided that her feelings no longer run that deep for Sherlock, then she must still feel _something_ for him? She cannot just have switched it all off. Perhaps, in any case she simply thinks that she doesn’t feel that way because of all she has been through. Perhaps it is the shock talking, the need at the moment for self-preservation. So much has happened to her in such a short space of time. Her mind must be struggling with it all…in any case she still has so much to think about…everything with Christopher and I do too. Perhaps this is not the right time for either of us? Perhaps”-he stops now-“Perhaps I have been foolish to have this hope and to do what I have just done. Perhaps the best thing I can give her now is space. The space that she requested from me before.” Dash looks up at him with pleading brown eyes that beg him not to let Nicola down. “I’m sorry,” Mycroft tells the dog, the lead fisted around his hand. “I cannot go through with this. Not today. I will take you back to Mrs. Hudson and then I will…well, I’ll go and do something.” His hands fidget now as they unwind the lead more. Dash lets out a soft whine of disappointment and his head droops, his tail tucking in close to his body. Mycroft feels as if it is Nicola that is upset with him and he cannot bear it. He hurries back to 221B. 

 

“Your chicken was burning,” Mrs. Hudson tells him as he releases Dash back into her care and Mycroft feels all the more guilty. He’d nearly burnt Nicola’s flat down and probably all the rest of them with it just because he’d needed to think. He is just as bad as Eurus and Christopher are, though he finds himself thinking that those two alone can hardly be classed in the same category. Even if Nicola _does_ somehow feel the way he does though then it is his responsibility to be the adult here and do what is best for the both of them, even if that means letting her down gently. Letting _himself_ down. He has to think about more than just his own selfish desires. “I turned it down low for you.” Mrs. Hudson looks at him reprovingly, as if even now he should be trying harder for Nicola. But then she brightens up a moment later when she asks, “Are you going to fetch her now?” 

 

Mycroft mutters something indistinguishable and then gets the hell out of there. 

 

*

 

Nicola’s disappointed when Sherlock’s the one who comes to pick her up rather than Mycroft. 

 

“I'm sure that you’ll be seeing my brother soon enough Nicola,” Sherlock says, and she nods, feeling guilty for a moment because Sherlock is trying to be kind to her and she should be happy with that, with _him,_ but she’s not suddenly. A lump forms inside her throat. It grows big enough to seal her mouth and she cannot talk. Sherlock, with a look of grim understanding about his face, guides her out of there and for a moment she thinks that she sees the exact image that she wants-Mycroft and Dash standing just in front of the pavement. Mycroft with a soft smile upon his face, Dash’s lead held firmly, but gently because he knows and understands just how precious the dog is to her and Dash getting excited and starting to tap dance on the spot. Mycroft would be a little alarmed about Dash doing such a thing, before a lop-sided smile would come onto his face and he’d stare at her. The both of them would. Her _boys._ She surges forwards for a moment and thinks that she might run to them. But then she blinks and realizes that they are not there after all and she feels this sense of crushing disappointment inside her. A passenger that’s in a black cab going past looks at her as if she must be mad now. She shrinks back, not liking people staring at her. Sherlock guides her into another taxi and the journey back to 221B is a silent one. Then the door opens and though Nicola finds that she partly focuses on Mrs. Hudson and on reassuring her with an embrace she feels a hope start to build up inside her again. She can smell chicken cooking. Dash comes to see her, letting out a series of soft excited whines, his tail wagging as quickly as she has ever seen it do, _and,_ feeling like she’s about to cry because she’s missed him so she pats him. He turns around, and then, as if even he is hoping that Mycroft’s there, he begins to lead Nicola to her flat. She follows after him with bated breath, her heart only operating on every other beat. But though she pushes the door open and everything looks so vibrant and new like she’s seeing it all for the first time-the surfaces of the kitchen are clean and sparkling, not a single dish is waiting to be washed up or dried, she can smell that the place has been hovered, there is a white table cloth over the table, glinting cutlery and a clear vase full of the most beautiful yellow carnations between two chairs, which face one another other-though the room looks like it has been set up for a date, the person that she’d most like to be dating in the whole world right now is nowhere to be seen. 

 

‘Where’s Mycroft?’ she mouths after turning back to Mrs. Hudson. 

 

“I'm sorry dear,” Mrs. Hudson says, her fingers trembling slightly against her lips. “I would never have let him in if I thought-well he seemed better than he has ever done before. All that work he did with Dash”-Nicola looks at her-“He came around this morning saying that the matter of applying Dash’s cream was his responsibility until you got better, _and_ he took him on a walk”-

 

Nicola raises a hand. She’s heard enough now. She just needs to find Mycroft and work out _why,_ when he’d done all she could have ever wanted him to and more, he’d decided not to be there to see it all through. Behind her she thinks that she can hear Sherlock saying something about how Nicola can count on him to find his brother, but then it comes to her. “I know where he’ll be,” she says in more of a whisper to herself. She turns and leaves the building again, not taking Dash with her, not turning around at Mrs. Hudson’s worried exclamations and barely noticing as Sherlock follows after her, hailing down a cab. She finds her voice once more to tell the driver in a croak where to go and then she sits back and waits, hoping that she’s right. 

 

*

 

 _’I thought you’d be with Nicola?’_ Christopher writes when Mycroft sits down by his bedside. The boy hasn’t spoken since the fire. 

 

“Nicola has been released.” Christopher looks at him as if the point he’d made still stands. Mycroft feels a little irritated with the boy. It had not been his full intention to go there. He’d sort of just ended up by Christopher’s room and then thought ‘Why not?’ as he’d met the little boy’s gaze through the peep-hole. “I can go if you’d rather that I wasn’t here Christopher,” Mycroft says promptly now, before he practically kicks himself for behaving like a child again. “You do know that I'm very sorry don’t you Christopher? For what I said before?” Since he could not work his guts up to say such a thing to Nicola he might as well say them to Christopher if he can. “I did not mean to do or say anything that made you feel as if you couldn't trust us- _Nicola._ She cares for you very deeply Christopher. I don’t want you thinking badly of her.”

 

“I know,” Christopher says quietly to Mycroft’s astonishment. The man looks at him uncertainly. “I didn't want to be taken away, but I'm going to be now anyway…” the boy looks deeply upset, tears brim inside his eyes, “But Nicola was never going to do that to me was she?” 

 

 _“No.”_ Mycroft shakes his head. 

 

“She saved my life,” Christopher volunteers, feeling stronger. “Just after the fire started we heard bangs and she put her body in front of mine and took the blast. She cut her head. Did she tell you?” 

 

Mycroft does a negative gesture once more, but feels fiercely proud of Nicola. “No,” he says, “I saw the cut on her face, but she did not tell me how it occurred.” 

 

Christopher nods and then he cannot stop himself from saying, “Is she angry with me?” Finding that he’s talking again it’s very difficult for him to suddenly stop. “For starting the fire? She could have died. I-I thought that she had.” Big fat tears begin to leak out of Christopher’s eyes and his voice grows even softer. “When she landed she didn't move for the longest of times. I thought I was going to die too.” He trembles and Mycroft leans closer, making to act as a source of comfort to the boy, but Christopher flings his arms around his neck to bring them together all the more. 

 

“She didn't die Christopher,” Mycroft says as his hands begin to rub at the boy’s back soothingly. “Even if I hadn’t been able to come then Dash would have always got you out of there and I hope”-he falters now-“I hope that though I hardly did as much as Nicola you understand that I care very deeply for you? That I never meant to hurt you?” 

 

Christopher nods, forgiving Mycroft _and,_ feeling terribly lucky a small smile manages to creep its way across the older man’s face, before they are disrupted as the door opens once more. Mycroft thinks it might be a nurse at first, but it is Nicola and something tumbles inside him. She does not look angry with him, just pleased to see him and that is even worse. He avoids her gaze.

 

“I thought you’d be here,” she starts, her face cracking into a bit of a tentative smile, which he can hear through her tone and it is that and the fact that she’s still comfortable enough to speak in his presence that makes him stand and hurriedly make his way past her, eyes averted as he scrapes his free hand across his jaw. The other as usual carries his umbrella. She stares at him. She didn't think he’d still want to carry on avoiding her. Thought that he’d explain. Thought that he wouldn't have it in his heart to do anything but that once they saw one another again. 

 

He does not stop and he tries to go past Sherlock too, who is waiting in the corridor outside, but Sherlock calls out, _“Brother?”_ his hand outstretched. Mycroft stops, his jaw tenses. Sherlock moves closer to him. “What are you doing? Why aren't you at 221C with Nicola? I thought you had feelings for her?” 

 

Mycroft can’t resist being the smart one. “Nicola is not at 221C,” he says, whilst his mind tries not to think about the vast amount of feelings he has for the woman he has just left behind. 

 

“You know what I mean,” Sherlock says now with some bite to his tone. 

 

Mycroft does not answer out loud. In his head he says, _‘Because I am not deserving of her,’_ before he walks away. Nicola has been brave her entire life. She’s saved a little boy’s life. But he doesn’t even have enough courage to have dinner with her, which shows him again that they should not be together. 

 

In the room Nicola tries not to show her feelings of hurt and confusion in front of Christopher. She sits down on his bed. He senses her mood anyway. 

 

“Are you upset with me?” he asks. 

 

She shakes her head and borrows his notebook. _‘I am not upset with you Christopher. I'm just so very happy that you’re alive. If I'm angry at all then it’s with myself for not handling things better. I should have been more careful with you.’_ Again she wonders if she should have tried to keep Christopher from Mycroft, but she finds now that she cannot be as angry about that as she once was. Not with the way that he’d been there for them when it really mattered. He’d saved Christopher too. _‘I just want what’s best for you. I'm going to try and do what I can for you okay?’_

 

“The _police”-_ Christopher looks up at her anxiously. 

 

_‘I'm going to try and put in a good word and do anything that I can for you.’_

 

 _“Why?”_ Christopher looks puzzled. 

 

“Because sometimes Christopher,” Nicola, with the strength of her convictions, manages to find her voice- “You have to take a stand.” She knows that she could have quite easily gone down the route that he’s started to if circumstances had been different and her family hadn’t been fortunate enough to have her father’s job, which had provided the shelter of that large house for her. She stands and covers his hands with one of hers. 

 

*

 

A week goes by. A week where Nicola has no contact with Mycroft, but has tried not to think about it too much. She’d figured out a plan relatively quickly that might help in that area and ordered what was needed. It had arrived yesterday and she’s almost ready to use it, just gearing herself up to get in touch with him again. She’s done a lot of talking in the past week through various means. Verbally when she could and she had a piece of paper that had everything on it too when she found that words escaped her. All she’d needed to do was hand the paper over and point to the relevant part and she’d felt pleased with the technique. Once again she’d found a way to manage herself. She’d also spoken a lot to Mrs. Hudson. She’d found it helpful to discuss what had happened and what might now happen in the future. It had gotten everything clearer in her head, made her feel firmer about it all. She passes her phone back and forth between her hands on her lap as she sits on the blue settee in her flat. She can’t delay any more. Dash makes an encouraging sound from where he’s curled up by her feet. Nicola gives him a scratch behind his ears, before she takes a deep breath and goes through with it. She calls Mycroft. 

 

He picks up after three rings and when all he hears is her fluttery breathing at the end of the line he simply asks, _“Nicola?”_

 

 _“Mycroft.”_ She feels suddenly relieved to be making this step, but also rather choked with emotion. 

 

“I'm very busy”- He’s scared. 

 

“I’d like you to come around to my flat tomorrow night,” Nicola just about manages to get the words out and thank God that she does. Her free hand fists tightly around the material of her trousers. 

 

“As I’ve said I'm very busy”- Mycroft goes on. 

 

 _“Please,”_ she begs, before she tries to make things easier for him by adding, “One quick conversation and then you can go.” She hopes that he won’t leave, that he’ll never do so again, but if saying that is what gets him to agree to come in the first place then she’s all for it. 

 

Mycroft thinks about it for a moment. He’d rather maintain this distance that Nicola seems to have started. He doesn’t much like it, but he is safe within it. Come out of it and he doesn’t know what might happen. He has a yearning to see her though. Sherlock might have been texting him every night calling him an idiot, sometimes with John’s company, but it has not been enough to move him. This though, hearing Nicola’s soft breaths down the line and knowing how difficult it must have been for her to make the phone call in the first place makes him relent, “Okay.” After all how much can one conversation wound his pride? As Nicola disconnects the call he thinks that he’s about to find out. 

 

*

 

Nicola does not know what to wear. She goes back and forth through her wardrobe and drawers, flinging through her clothes with various levels of distaste and uncertainty. She turns this way and that in front of the mirror, holding up outfit after outfit, before in the end she settles on the purple and black plaid shirt that she’d worn on the day, which Mycroft had comforted her after the school interrogation and some smart dark jeans. Maybe it will remind him how much of a team they were that day? Planning to talk to Christopher together. The clothes look a little brighter on her now because her hair is starting to go back to its natural colour. She’d finally stopped fussing with her dye jobs of brown and decided to let the ginger come through again. She’s still got the blonde highlights and she thinks that she’ll decide how the two colours look together, before doing anything more drastic. It’s about time she stopped hiding and just started being herself. In any case she’s got bigger problems to worry about now than drawing attention to herself. She has to do right by Christopher _and_ Mycroft if she can. She takes a deep breath and goes back out into the main flat. It’s fairly neat, not as pristine as it had been when Mycroft had organized everything by any means, but tidy enough for her. She hasn’t gone to the trouble of preparing any dinner or anything like that just in case Mycroft decided that he really _did_ want to leave. She swallows and makes sure that the bottle of red is still on the coffee table. It is. But then she panics inside again because she thinks that there might be a speck of dirt on one of the two glasses that are beside it. She goes forwards worriedly. It’s just a trick of the light. _‘Get it together Nicola or you won’t be able to speak at all,’_ is what she thinks to herself and Dash makes a sound of agreement as if he can hear her. 

 

*

 

Mycroft is not sure that this is a good idea. His hand flips his pocket-watch open, shut, open, shut. He’s sure that it’s getting on the nerves of his driver, but it’s not something that he can help doing. He shifts, fidgeting. He’s wearing a grey, pinstripe, three-piece suit, the jacket of which has dark blue lining and the red tie that has little blue knights helmets on to encourage him to be brave and a white shirt. His shoes are polished and his hair is brushed. He doesn’t smell terribly-on the contrary he’s wearing a very expensive brand of cologne, whose scent is like the burning just before rain. It suits his mood. But even those he’s done all these things that would usually make him feel good he feels so uncomfortable. He considers telling his driver to just turn around again, but then quickly dismisses the idea. He’d lost his nerve once before after all. He can’t do the same now. Besides, this is different. He’d promised that he’d be there. He’d given Nicola his word. How gentlemanly would it be for him to not show up now? _‘One conversation,’_ he tells himself when a dull headache begins to thrum beneath his temple, _‘One conversation and then I promise you, you can go. You’ll never have to see Nicola again.’_ The thought just makes him feel all the worse. 

 

The car pulls up by the kerb that’s outside 221B. Mycroft gets out, taking his usual umbrella and wonders if it would be terribly inappropriate of him if he were to hurry into Speedy’s and have a quick slice of cake. His eyes roam up instinctively and spot Sherlock staring at him from the window. His brother’s lip curls, before he moves away again. _No,_ Mycroft squares his shoulders; he’s going to be an adult about this. He’s not going to run away or delay any further. _Besides,_ his mind tells him unhelpfully, he’ll probably be in more need of the cake _afterwards._ Taking a deep breath now he marches up to the door and presses at Nicola’s doorbell. For good measure, and just to make sure that he’s significantly heard, he also bangs the knocker, before he adjusts it to his preferred position. Sherlock always leaves it wonky. It is unbearable. To his chagrin it is not Nicola who answers the door, but Mrs. Hudson. 

 

“Shame on you Mycroft Holmes.” She glowers at him. No one else says his name with as much venom as that aside from his mother and it makes him wince. 

 

“I rang Nicola’s”- he gestures feebly at the bell, squinting a little to try and deal better with Mrs. Hudson’s wrath. 

 

“Yes, I'm fully aware that you rang Nicola’s doorbell.” Mrs. Hudson practically wobbles in place she is so mad. “But I made every effort to reach the door before her, so that I could warn you.” Mycroft swallows now. He supposes that he does not need to ask _why_ Mrs. Hudson is warning him. “That if you mess around with Nicola’s heart again then I will never let you into this property, no matter who you say you are here to see and even if your brother should be dying.” Mycroft swallows at that. 

 

“I think he gets the message Mrs. Hudson,” Nicola’s soft voice comes from somewhere behind Mrs. Hudson now and as Mrs. Hudson opens the door further and steps aside Mycroft sees that Nicola’s just come out of 221C. Her hands are tangled together nervously and she looks at him a little shyly from beneath the fringe of her hair. Mycroft thinks that the burgeoning colour suits her and hopes that it will be there to stay. Her feet are a little uncertain as they take a couple of steps forwards. 

 

As he steps inside he opens his mouth. He wants to tell Nicola that what she’s got on could not be any more her and he likes that fact every much. It reminds him of every one of their encounters together. He wants to tell her that if she doesn’t have faith in herself by now then she should do, but all he can say in the end is, _“Nicola,”_ because that’s the only thing that matters. 

 

 _“Hey.”_ She blushes as she drinks in how good he looks, still feeling extraordinarily comfortable with him in spite of their lack of contact recently. She gestures at the door of her flat, wanting to continue this more privately. Mycroft comes forwards, but instead of turning and leading him in Nicola finds herself just watching his careful grace instead. He can’t seem to take his eyes away from her either and as he finds himself suddenly in front of her the pair of them just take one another in for a moment. She tilts her head to take him in all the more and see the still blue colour of his eyes. He peers down at Nicola, noticing how the light on her hair makes it look all the more beautiful. That is until they both suddenly seem to realize at the same time what they’re doing and as one their arms jerk away from their sides and they share a clumsy embrace. She thinks that he’s stood closer to her than he actually is, so as she tilts forwards she ends up rather comically falling against his chest. He catches her one handedly with a grunt and is about to kiss at her cheek because it feels so good to have her that close to him again when she decides to pull away from him. Her words are finally stuck. She just turns and makes her way into her flat instead. Mycroft follows and he can hear Mrs. Hudson letting out a cough of warning as she makes her way back to her own flat. Dash is by the door as Nicola enters and she shoves his head gently back with her hand to get him to give Mycroft and her more space. 

 

“Is he better now?” Mycroft leans his umbrella up against the wall by the door and touches at the dog in greeting. Nicola nods when he looks at her and gestures at the wine. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't bring any myself.” She shakes her head. That isn’t what she’d meant by it and she senses that deep down he knows such a thing so why is he acting so flighty? “Yes, I’ll have some if you are.” Feeling relieved to have something to do Nicola goes and pours it. Mycroft sits down on the settee and brushes at his trousers anxiously. Dash sits down beside him by the arm of the settee and Mycroft half-glances at him, but doesn’t say anything. “How have you been Nicola?” Mycroft asks suddenly and the wine nearly goes all over the table. She sets the bottle aside and nods distractedly. How does he think she’s been with him treating her the way that he has? Truthfully she would have rather been speaking to him in the past week than Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft takes out his phone as she sits beside him, wanting to be gentlemanly and not realizing how much he is already serving to annoy her, but she covers it up with her hand. He looks at her. 

 

“I-I”- she attempts to start, but that is all that comes out. She swallows and opens her mouth. Nothing. Again and again she tries, opening her mouth and shutting it wordlessly like a stupid goldfish. Her hands curl into fists, her breathing gets ragged and she does her best not to cry because she feels so perturbed by herself. Why can’t she speak? Why can’t she just fucking speak when she wants to? She hates being her sometimes. She gets to her feet. The rustling that, that causes is like a huff of breath being exhaled. She folds her arms, as she takes a couple of steps further away so that all Mycroft can see of her is her back. She can’t bear to see the look of pity that must be forming upon his face. For God’s sake the one time that she really needs to be strong and she’s failing! 

 

She hears the creak of the settee as Mycroft gets to his feet and hugs herself all the more. Something nudges at her elbow. Her breath swirling uncomfortably tight inside her chest she looks down to see that Mycroft’s trying to pass his phone to her. “Please,” he encourages, moving it up and down a little, “Take it.” She doesn’t hear the pain in his voice from seeing her in this way, so convinced she is that he thinks her pathetic. That feeling burning up inside her makes her snatch it from him and promptly return to the settee. Mycroft follows her cautiously. She can’t know that he’s worried that she’s about to break his heart using his own phone. 

 

 _I'm sorry,_ she taps onto the blank text message, _You must wish that you hadn’t come, but I asked you here tonight because I wanted to discuss a few things. Before I move onto them though I need to tell you that I was surprised and disappointed when you left the hospital without speaking to me the other day. I'm struggling to understand why you did such a thing after you made the flat look so nice and you took care of Dash too. I want to thank you for both of those things, but not for leaving me the way that you did. Do you really think that I’ve had a good week when you haven’t been there for it? Yes, before you say anything I know that you’ve been busy, but I just thought that we meant more to each other than that? I know I told you to leave me alone Mycroft, but that was before the fire happened and I thought that my behaviour at the hospital would have shown you that I didn't mean it. That I was sorry for it?_ She hands the phone over to him at that point. 

 

Mycroft takes it and looks at her warily, before he begins to read. He feels guilt after he’s done so. Guilt for avoiding Nicola. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, upset her. He’d just been so wrapped up in his own feelings that it had been hard to contemplate how his actions might be affecting _her._ But he hadn’t wanted this sort of feeling directed at him by her either. He glances at her again and sees the way that she’s still simmering about it all, jaw locked, eyes suspiciously bright, emotions that have been tucked away for a week that she’s finally letting come to the surface now, _and,_ feeling a great need to stop her from looking that way, for his own benefit if nothing more, he places his phone aside, ignores the promise he’d made to Nicola about trying to communicate in exactly the same way as her and blurts out, “Nicola I'm sorry.” A muscle twitches on her face, but she does not look at him. “Nicola please look at me.” He turns closer to her. Slowly her blue-amber eyes rise to meet his and he grasps at her hands, cupping them between his and staring at her pleadingly, “I’ve had so many feelings…the truth is I'm a coward!” he blurts out when she looks as if she still does not understand. She flinches and looks at him a little warily. For a moment he thinks that she might be on the verge of pulling her hands away and he grasps onto them more firmly to beg her not to. “That’s why I left. That’s why I could not bear to go through with the ‘Welcome Home’ meal that I wanted to do for you because I'm not brave like you are. Do you know what Christopher told me?” Slowly she shakes her head, not exactly surprised by the mention of Christopher since he’s become such a big part of her link to Mycroft after all, but wondering what he has to do with all of this. “He said that you saved his life Nicola.” Mycroft’s thumb begins to rub across her skin now, sending a fissure of heat across the path that it takes. “You protected him when things started to get worse during the fire. He was worried that you’d die because of him.” Mycroft looks away. He does not want to admit that he’d been worried about the exact same thing. 

 

She stares at him cautiously, before she reaches across his lap to get his phone. Once she’s holding it she taps: _You risked your life too._ She hands it to him. 

 

“I was scared,” he confesses, head bowed. He throws his phone down on the coffee table. It skitters across, close to the edge. Tentatively she touches at the side of his hair, before her hand slips down and she draws his chin up. His heart skips in surprise as his dull eyes lock with hers. 

 

“All those stupid emotions?” she murmurs, caressing at the side of his hair again and picking some of it apart. Her lips are close and parted. She draws away from him slowly. 

 

 _“Mm.”_ He finds that he wants to explain to her. Explain _part_ of it anyway. “There was a fire in the house I used to live in when I was younger. My ancestral home. We all escaped, but it…seeing the fire at the school, knowing that you were more than likely inside there. It brought everything back.” He does not mention Eurus. _Cannot_ mention her. Nicola will be gone if he does. That he knows most of all. That is why he has to maintain this tightrope walk. One where he cannot let go of her it seems, but not tell her the full truth either. 

 

“Then you were very brave.” He feels hope rising in spite of himself. She goes back to his phone now. _I think you’ve shown courage all along._ She shows him the words. _Think about it, when I first met you, your only interest was in taking care of your brother. I'm not saying that, that in itself is not a good thing. But now you’re at the point where you’re berating yourself because you might have lost Christopher and I. It’s pretty brave to open yourself up to new experiences like that, don’t you think?_ Something shines in his eyes as he reads it. Nicola looks down at his phone. She senses that it’s time. _I need to tell you something._ She hands the phone back to him. He looks up from the message with a furrowed brow, before he tries to hand the phone back to her. She pushes it away again. He looks confused. She gestures that he should wait one moment, as she stands up. He nods. She goes to her bedroom and when she comes out of it Mycroft looks all the more puzzled because she doesn’t seem to have anything additional with her. Knowing differently however Nicola goes across to him. Then, and taking a bit of a deep breath, she opens her fisted palm up in front of him. Mycroft releases a long whoosh of breath when he sees what the circular light blue badge in Nicola’s hand with green writing says, _‘I love you.’_

 

“Not my brother?” He cannot help it. 

 

She shakes her head, eyes looking a little teary. ‘It was always meant to be you,’ she mouths. 

 

Feeling far more encouraged by that and a little overwhelmed if he is honest, he reaches into his jacket and grasps what he’d brought with him just in case-for some reason he hadn’t been able to leave home without it. His hands hadn’t let him. She steps back as he stands and looks at him worriedly. Is he going to leave even though she could have sworn that she’d seen a watery light of emotion in his eyes and a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth? He brings the something out and shows it to her, holding it in his palm just like she’d done. She feels emotional when she sees that it’s a circular white badge, this one with a black outline of a flower at its bottom and which also has the words, _‘I love you,’_ on it in neat black lettering. She looks at him, blinking back tears and feeling more than ever like he’s the one who understands her. 

 

“I'm very sorry.” He looks at her tenderly. “For all I have put you through. I have already apologized for saying what I did to Christopher, but I need to say the same to you. I did not mean to mess things up so badly, least of all put either of you in danger”-

 

Shaking her head at him now she puts one of the fingers of her free hand to his lips and silences him. His pupils blow wide and she feels a tingle in her fingers that makes her pull away. Then she gathers up both of their badges and puts them down on the coffee table, before she looks at him again. ‘Already forgiven,’ she mouths, liking how he focuses on her lips with a furrowed brow. They take a step towards one another, Mycroft looking at her gratefully. 

 

His hand goes to her shoulder now, before it runs down to grasp onto her elbow. She thinks that they might be about to kiss and is both apprehensive and eager for such a thing, but then he pulls back at the last moment and says, “I-I want to be with you. You understand?” She nods, appreciating how earnest he is. It helps calm her own nerves. “But there are so many things that we should be thinking of. I'm afraid that I won’t be able to give you what you want.” It’s all spilling out now. 

 

She sits down with him again. _I know there is a lot for us to consider. Truthfully I need to tell you one more thing too. It might change you thinking that you want to be with me and I’ll fully respect you if it does._ Mycroft looks at her cautiously, not wanting anything to effect them now. She finishes her message. _I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’ve come to the decision that I'm going to do my best to try and adopt Christopher. You have to be twenty-one to do it, so I’ll have to wait until I'm a bit older. I know I haven’t been a mother before, but I think he needs me and I'm willing to do what I can to learn and do my best. When I was seven I was running about with my imaginary friend, making up stories. That’s the kind of life I want for him too. The good parts. It’s not an easy process. I’ve started speaking to people and I think it could be done. It will be a struggle even if I manage it. He’s still so affected by being separated from his mother and he’d have to get used to this offer of something new. He might not want it at first. But I'm not going to let him rot in the children’s home if I can help it either. I don’t want it to be too late for him. For him to be so depleted of love that he’s doing drugs or crime on a much larger scale. I’d probably have to get a better paying job and say goodbye to my voluntary work because of it. But I think that I’d be able to give him a better quality of life than he’ll have in care, which I’ve managed to convince Greg to let him stay in for now._ Once again Mycroft marvels at what Nicola is capable of and she with no job like he, just her powers of persuasion and the fact that people seem to like her. _He’s had a strict warning for the fires, but at least he won’t have to go into a young offenders institution for them. I’ve also got Dash, which is a bonus and will help with Christopher. Anyway, there’s a lot to consider. I won’t bore you with it. But the thing that I wanted to ask was if I did manage to adopt him then would you consider spending the occasional bit of time with him? It wouldn't have to be all the time or anything like that. I just think that he’d benefit from your company and in any case he seems to like you. But like I said I fully respect if this puts you off wanting to be in a romantic relationship with me. Christopher is someone that I'm willing to take on, but I appreciate that you might not be so eager to and I’d prefer it if you were honest with me now, no matter how you feel. I don’t want you to feel like you have to take him on. We can still be friends. He shouldn't be a burden to you Mycroft._

 

Mycroft feels torn when he finishes reading Nicola’s message. On the one hand he is full of admiration for her willingness to adopt Christopher and for putting herself through all these changes that he knows must be hard for her. He wants to be with her on that journey, to get to know Christopher better too. But he is a writhing mass of fear. Could he be enough for not just Nicola, but Christopher? The pressure he feels is so large and immense. 

 

 _You can discuss it with me. What you’re thinking,_ Nicola adds to her message. 

 

“Well,” he begins, looking a little panicky now, “I suppose what I’d really like is if”- he breaks off uncertainly. She swipes her thumb across the back of his hand, sending a dusting of warmth across it, as if to remind him that this is just a discussion and not something that she’s waiting to take offence at. “If I could adopt Christopher too.” Nicola’s heart swells at those words. She hadn’t dared hope that he’d say them. “A-And if Christopher and you could come and live with me. I’d like to support you both. I'm not saying pay for everything because I know that you’d probably want such a thing to be pretty much equal if the situation ever did occur, but I’d like it if you were able to carry on with your voluntary work. The fact that you’re taking a bigger step to provide for one of the children does not mean that you should stop helping the others. They all benefit from you.” Once again he’s earnest. 

 

 _You’re right. I_ would _want there to be an equal contribution between us, but what exactly do you think is stopping you from getting Christopher as your adopted son and us living with you? I still have to discuss this all with Christopher, but I'm sure that if he agreed to be adopted by us and everything then he wouldn't have any objection about coming to live with you. I certainly wouldn't mind._ She looks at him with a shy sort of determination as she hands the phone over now. 

 

Mycroft’s face feels suddenly warmer. “I suppose,” he toys with his phone between his hands and she moves her hand to rest upon his arm, “That I'm just worried that should we go through with all of that then it would just be too much of a step for me.” He looks between his knees. She rubs at his arm reassuringly. The agony of his emotions is written all over his face and she’d like to help him if he’ll let her. “What you have to understand”-he gestures with his hands-“Is that I have been living on my own a long time now. I am used to my own routine and whilst I would never wish to make either Christopher or you feel unwanted I would be seriously afraid that, that is what would happen.” Plus that they would find out everything, but of course he can’t say that. 

 

Nicola thinks for a moment about it all, before she plucks his phone from him. Mycroft looks surprised at the gesture, but pleased. _Can I make a suggestion?_ She shows him. He nods. _This whole process with Christopher is going to take some time. Like I said I’ll have to wait until I'm twenty-one to be able to do it legally, so it’s definitely not something that will be happening overnight. What if we keep things how they are for the moment with everyone living where they’re living? We can start going out with each other if that’s something that you feel you’d like._ The thought makes her pause for a moment and smile. _We can see Christopher and perhaps take him out every now and again. If we’re both comfortable enough to then perhaps I could move in first and we could see how that goes first. Then Christopher can move in if we are able to have him. If you don’t want to be in a relationship with me at any time, or if you do, but do not want to commit to the full responsibility of adopting Christopher then of course you would be free to say so. I won’t hold it against you. No grudges, although I would like us to still be friends no matter what._

 

Mycroft smiles a little when he reads it. The methodological fashion of it all makes him feel calmer and what she’s just said certainly sounds like the best option. Clearly Nicola is good at finding solutions from all the practice that she’s had, but still he worries about hurting her. “Would I be enough for you?” he asks, getting to the true point. 

 

Feeling comfortable enough to not need Mycroft’s phone any more Nicola puts it aside. Turning towards him more their hands tangle together. He stares at her imploringly. “No man has ever treated me in a more equal fashion. Not even your brother,” she jokes. 

 

Something grows more serious in Mycroft’s eyes now. “Do you really not love him any more?” He touches at her hair. 

 

She shakes her head. “I can’t be in the process of getting over him if I never loved him in the first place. I just thought that I did. I mistook the love I felt for having a friend stand up for me in that way for romantic love.” 

 

“What’s it like with me?” 

 

“You’re everything,” she breathes. 

 

His hand moves down to cup at her cheek and then he’s leaning forwards and slowly bringing their lips together. One of her hands goes to the side of him, the other to his shoulder. It’s just a touch at first. Just the act of his lips against hers with no movement, whilst they both get used to the fact that they’re actually doing this. Then, slowly, his begin to caress against hers and she feels it again, that fissure, that spark, like fire against something that had only previously been wood. That desire that they can now give into more. Overcome because this is better than she could have ever imagined it being she makes a sound against him and then her hand goes from his shoulder down to the nape of his neck, brushing and clutching at the hairs there. He makes a grunt of satisfaction and groans slightly against her lips when she begins to kiss him back. The sound goes through to her and right down to her stomach. Their lips rubbing together his hand goes to her waist. Their bodies fall sideways against the back of the settee and they pull apart with a huff of breath. She slips her hand onto his shoulder again and his thumb rubs against her waist, creating soothing, circular movements. Both of their eyes shine. 

 

“Do you really think that I’ll be sufficient?” He looks at her. “Even as a possible father figure for young Christopher?” He’s still eager to know. 

 

“I saw the two of you at the hospital the other day,” she tells him wisely, “You were doing just fine.”

 

Mycroft looks pleased about the assessment for about half-a-second, before he remembers how he’d then left the hospital. His face grows sad and then determined. “No more walking away. I promise you I’ll try and be more…honest with you about my feelings,” he swears. 

 

She pecks at his lips, before she snuggles close to him. “That’s exactly how I know you’re going to be fine,” she says, “You listen.” Their hands mesh together. 

 

He kisses at her hair and puts an arm around her. He thinks that if Christopher were here then this would be exactly how things should be, Dash content and dozing, Nicola nestled close and the little boy near by. As he closes his eyes he thinks there could be nothing better.


	9. My Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything is settled...

**Two Weeks Later**

 

“Hey Christopher, we’re going to Mycroft’s brother’s flat today for lunch. Is that okay?” The small boy nods at Nicola’s words. Things have been going well. Just that morning Mycroft and Nicola had taken Christopher around a few shops and gotten a sticker book for him. He’d showed them his old one the previous week and tentatively mentioned something about getting new stickers for it. Unfortunately they don’t do ones for that one any more. Even though Christopher will still keep the old one he’s now got a wildlife one, which is the closest thing that they’d been able to find to what he had before and a whole new bunch of stickers for it. He’s looking forward to getting a chance to sit down and see which ones they are and he clutches at the bag proudly. With a smile Nicola has one of his hands in hers and Mycroft has his hand protectively close to the boy’s shoulder. As usual Dash trots obediently at their side. 

 

Christopher suddenly thinks of something. “Will we be able to sit down there?” he asks. 

 

“As long as my brother removes some of his mess then we should be able to,” Mycroft says and Christopher looks worried. 

 

“He’s teasing you.” She swats Mycroft on the arm. “Of course we’ll be able to sit down”- Her words draw to a sudden stop however as a bunch of people pass by. To her gratitude Christopher squeezes at her fingers and Mycroft casts her a reassuring glance. They haven’t yet told Christopher about their hopes to adopt him, but might do so today if they can find the right moment. They both want to do it soon in any case, so that he can get used to the idea. Things are already moving a little behind the scenes and the woman at the children’s home seemed happy to think that Christopher might have found himself a new family. Friends however are not quite so keen on the idea-Mrs. Hudson had been quiet initially, before both John and she seemed to think that it was a move being taken too soon and that it would all go horribly wrong. Privately Nicola feels that they have much the same expectations about her relationship with Mycroft. She hasn’t been brave enough to venture it to her parents yet, but she’s hoping that the trip to 221B that day might help change her friends minds and give her more courage to. 

 

She lets them in once they get there. Dash pushes past her eagerly, which makes her laugh a bit, but she soon turns more serious when she looks over her shoulder and sees Christopher’s hesitancy. Mycroft is attempting to steer him inside, but the boy is rigid. 

 

“It’s okay.” Nicola stretches a hand towards him now. He takes it and finally steps into the hallway, looking around. She takes the bag off him, so that he can take his red coat off. He plucks at it with his fingers, before he does so. Mycroft kisses Nicola on the cheek and squeezes her on the shoulder, before he proceeds to hang all their coats up. “I live just down there.” Nicola points. 

 

“Can I see it?” Christopher asks her, before he squirms back against Nicola a moment later when the door at the end of the hallway opens and Mrs. Hudson steps curiously out of her flat. 

 

“It’s all right Christopher.” Nicola’s hands go to the boy’s shoulders now, as she talks to him in a low murmur. “Mrs. Hudson is a good friend of mine.” 

 

Christopher looks back at her. _‘Friend?’_ he mouths. Nicola nods. Christopher looks back and is further reassured by the way that Dash waddles up to Mrs. Hudson, tail swinging from side to side a little sheepishly. 

 

The older woman touches at the spot just behind Dash’s ears fondly, before she looks back at Christopher. “You must be Christopher?” The boy nods. “You’re very lucky to have Nicola and Mycroft helping you the way they are.” Again Christopher nods, pushing back into Nicola, hand finding hers. “He’s quite a dear isn’t he?” Mrs. Hudson comments, looking back at Nicola again. Her eyes seem to contain something steely though, as if to say, _‘He’s troubled as we all know, so are you really sure that you want to be getting involved in all of this?’_

 

“Is my brother waiting for us?” Mycroft asks, detecting that something’s passing between the two women. His hand goes to Nicola’s back. 

 

Mrs. Hudson sniffs at the gesture. “Indeed he is. I expect that you’ll want me to bring a tray up for you all Mr. Holmes?” She looks at him severely. 

 

“If you could.” Mycroft shifts from foot to foot awkwardly. 

 

Mrs. Hudson turns around and bustles back into her flat, closing the door behind her. Nicola swallows at the gesture and Dash cocks his head at the spot where the older woman had once been. 

 

“She doesn’t seem to like either of you all that much,” Christopher observes, and it’s a statement, which makes Nicola feel like she could both laugh and cry. 

 

“She’s been a good friend to Nicola, but friends don’t always have to agree on everything Christopher,” Mycroft speaks for her. Christopher peers up at him owlishly. “Come.” Mycroft’s face softens. “Why don’t we all go upstairs?”

 

Nicola leads the way upon seeing Christopher’s shyness and Mycroft’s gesture for her to do so and wonders if anyone’s even there at all as she enters the sitting room, but then she peers around the corner and much to her relief sees Sherlock and John stood in the kitchen over a large, cauldron like bowl of alphabet spaghetti.

 

“Sherlock seems to think that we’re feeding the five thousand,” John nods when he sees her, looking a little stressed out. 

 

 _“Cool!_ Is that alphabet spaghetti?” Christopher exclaims, lurching forwards now, before he remembers himself and leans back towards Mycroft this time. Mycroft’s hands rest upon the boy’s shoulders. Both Nicola and he are a little surprised by Christopher’s sudden outburst and even Sherlock and John have raised their eyebrows. Christopher’s words a moment later though helps explain things. “I used to have it with Mummy sometimes.” Nicola and Mycroft exchange a glance. 

 

“Did you Christopher?” Nicola asks him cautiously. The boy nods. 

 

“Nicola and I use it to guess what John here might call my most recent case on his blog. Would you like to try it?” Sherlock explains kindly. 

 

“I would.” Christopher nods hesitantly. “But maybe later.” Sherlock looks perturbed and Mycroft amused at the boy having his own mind. “I need to put my new stickers in my sticker book first.”

 

“Oh good. Is that what’s in there?” Sherlock nods at the bag. Christopher jerks his head forwards. “Will you show it to me?” Again Christopher nods. 

 

But as Sherlock begins to steer the boy into the sitting room Nicola says, “No one will be showing anything to anyone until later.” Christopher and Sherlock both freeze. “We need to eat first.” Both man and boy lose the tension in their shoulders. 

 

Christopher is guided to sit on Sherlock’s armchair instead, whilst the consulting detective takes John’s chair. The rest are left to fend for themselves. Mycroft won’t let Nicola eat by where Sherlock does his experiments and clears a space at the table in the sitting room instead, making some extra room belatedly when Mrs. Hudson arrives, which she gladly fills up at once with her tea tray. 

 

They eat quite peacefully-Mycroft having dished it all out for everyone. Nicola cannot help but get a glow about her as she looks around the room and listens to the various scrapings of people’s spoons against their bowls. With the exception of her parents everyone who is so dear to her is gathered there and it makes her feel warm and happy inside. As she glances at Mycroft and sees the intensity of his gaze upon her, before he quirks his lips upward she knows that he feels the same. “Christopher?” she finds the name spilling out of her mouth as she finishes off her lunch. The boy, done himself now and with the bowl resting upon his lap, looks at her. Mycroft, sensing what she is about to say, grasps at her hand and curls his fingers around hers. “I-Do you enjoy being here with us? With Mycroft and me?” The boy hesitates. “You don’t have to answer yes sweetheart. Just do so if you feel like it’s true.” He nods earnestly now. “Then,” tentative, but encouraged she puts her bowl down, slips gently away from Mycroft and goes to crouch before Christopher-“We've been wondering, well, if you might”-

 

“What Nicola is trying to say Christopher,” Mycroft stands up now and joins them, placing a gentle hand upon Nicola’s back, “Is that if you ever wanted a home that wasn’t the children’s one then we’d be happy to provide it for you.”

 

Christopher’s eyes widen at that. _“What?_ Come and live with you?” He’s obviously got no idea of all the planning and thinking that’s been going on behind the scenes. 

 

“Yes,” Nicola replies, glad that Mycroft’s speeded things up for her. “If you wanted to then we’d all live at Mycroft’s, which isn’t too far from here and still in London. You’d get to go to the same school. It would just mean that you weren’t living at the children’s home any more.” 

 

“Would Dash be there?”

 

 _“Yes.”_ Nicola looks amused. 

 

“And, if you agreed, then Nicola and I would adopt you,” Mycroft confirms. 

 

Christopher’s face changes at once. He looks down, bottom lip trembling. Mycroft feels awful. Has he spoilt things again by getting a little carried away?

 

Worried Nicola removes the bowl from Christopher’s lap and puts it on the floor off to one side. She touches at the boy’s knee gently. “What is it sweetheart?”

 

Christopher raises his head, tears turning his pale blue eyes almost green and making Nicola’s heart feel crushed. “I-I'm never going to see my Mummy again am I?” 

 

“Oh darling.” Nicola cups his head to her chest. He sniffles against her, placing his tiny hands upon her back. She rubs at his own gently. “You might at some point. We can never tell what’s going to happen. I didn't ever think I’d find myself here with you.” She does not tell him that Mycroft’s been trying to arrange a meeting between Karen and themselves to no avail. For one thing they need to get her permission in order to be able to even adopt Christopher in the first place, but she doesn’t seem to be in any state to speak to them, let alone _want_ to do so. Although Nicola slightly selfishly now would prefer the boy not to go back to his mother permanently she would like them all to be in a place where they can be on good terms with one another. Where they can all put Christopher’s best interests first. 

 

 _“Christopher?”_ Mycroft murmurs, trying once more to make amends with the boy. Christopher raises his head to look at him and Mycroft crouches down by Nicola too. “Neither Nicola or I will ever try and replace your mother”-Sherlock snorts at his brother’s wording and Mycroft’s fingers twitch in displeasure-“We never could I know take the special place that you have in your heart for her, but if you wanted then Nicola and I, _especially_ Nicola”-Nicola holds onto his hand now-“Could hopefully give you something better than you have right now, so that you have a better future.” 

 

Christopher nods and inches a bit closer to them again. “Would I have to call you, ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy?’” Sherlock is very thankful in that moment that he has finished eating. John also looks affected by the prospect with his face scrunching up. 

 

“As long as you were respectful then no. You could just call us by our first names like you do now,” Mycroft responds; glad when he looks at Nicola that she seems to agree with him. 

 

“How would I get to school?” 

 

“There’s a bus,” Nicola murmurs, heart thudding inside her chest at the way that Christopher is at least considering it all. Her throat feels dry. “I’d take you to where you’d have to catch it every morning and fetch you at the end of the day if you wanted me to, but it’s within walking distance. It would take you a bit longer to get there, but it’s not _too_ bad,” she tries to sound encouraging. 

 

“What would my room look like?”

 

At that Nicola glances at Mycroft. _“Well,”_ he says, hands fidgeting and smiling a little awkwardly, “I'm pleased to say that you’d have a choice since there’s more than one spare room inside my house.” 

 

Christopher’s face looks more excited at that. “And I wouldn't have to share it? There’d be no other children?” Mycroft and Nicola glance a little shyly at one another now. 

 

Sherlock gags at the idea of Nicola and Mycroft having children, which encourages Mycroft to quickly say, “You’d have it all to yourself.” He looks back at the boy. 

 

“Then I think I’d like it much better than the children’s home,” Christopher grins. 

 

“Is that a ‘yes?’” Nicola checks keenly. 

 

Christopher nods and overcome with emotion the three of them all hug, Nicola kissing the top of Christopher’s hair, Mycroft’s arm wrapped around her back. There are tears in all of their eyes. 

 

Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and John all look at one another, none of them fully happy about the idea. 

 

*

 

“I suppose you’ll have to tell your parents soon now,” Mycroft says when Nicola and he are in the main living area of 221C that evening. Christopher, who had been curious and particularly interested in the books when he’d visited the flat earlier, is now back at the children’s home and hopefully looking forward to a better future with them. He’d asked them very tentatively and politely if they could keep hold of the sticker book for him so that no one at the children’s home would go stealing it. It’s a massive show of trust in them and they’re determined not to let him down. It sits on the coffee table alongside the game of _‘Cluedo’_ that they’re currently playing. On their way back from dropping Christopher off Nicola had bought a few games from the nearest charity shop and then gone on to rescue the ones that Sherlock had upstairs. They’re testing a few out to see which ones Christopher might enjoy best when he visits them. They've already ruled out, _‘Hungry Hippo’s’_ and _‘Jenga’_ as being too loud and boisterous. _‘Operation’_ is also on the hit list of no go areas, but _‘Pay Day’_ has been Mycroft approved because of its educational benefits of how to spend money wisely and now they’re debating _‘Cluedo.’_ Nicola has always enjoyed the game-to her it’s like going on an adventure. Whilst Mycroft had admitted earlier that due to the fact that Christopher will probably be in close contact with Sherlock should they adopt him the game might be appropriate. _Still,_ Nicola worries that it might remind Christopher of the recent past and so the verdict is yet to be decided upon. 

 

“Mm,” Nicola murmurs, concerned about what Mycroft has just said. She’s not looking forward to the experience either. Especially in getting her over-protective mother’s reaction. Suddenly she has a thought. “What about yours?”

 

Mycroft becomes suddenly very interested in the _‘Cluedo’_ board. “Yes, well, one at a time.” He looks both embarrassed and evasive about the matter. 

 

Nicola studies him for a moment. “What are they like?” she queries. 

 

“Oh, fairly normal.” He glances up at her. 

 

Noting that she’s not getting anywhere she decides to let the matter slide for now. “I thought we could go over and have lunch with my parents this weekend. I texted Father about it all earlier and he said that they didn't have anything on, so it’s up to us, but we’d be welcome.” 

 

Mycroft nods, wishing that they didn't have to go, but he’s not going to let Nicola down now. 

 

Nicola’s phone buzzes suddenly. She stops thinking about Christopher, her parents and whether or not the lead piping might have something to do with the fake murder that they’re investigating and checks it. _“Oh,”_ she reads quickly, “It’s from Sherlock. He wants Dash for a case.”

 

Mycroft stands up abruptly, nearly tipping over some of the counters in the board in his eagerness to leave. “I better go then,” he says as she looks up at him in surprise. He waves his hands. 

 

“You don’t have to,” she says. “I’ll only have to drop Dash off and it’s only a block and a half away. Don’t know why Sherlock couldn't have popped back for Dash himself actually.” Mycroft thinks unkindly that they both know that Sherlock just wants to disrupt their time together and keep Nicola-even if it’s just her friendship-all to himself. “But if you want to stay and make yourself a cup of tea or coffee in the meantime then we can”- she gestures at the board. 

 

“It’s late and I have work tomorrow,” Mycroft replies, face neutral. She’s surprised at how suddenly cold he is. 

 

“Right, yeah.” Sensing her disappointment he inwardly curses himself, pecks her roughly on the forehead and helps her into her coat, doing it up, so that she won’t be as cold. “You’re okay?” She touches at his cheek, making him lift his head up. He nods with a jerk, avoiding her eyes. She tries to ignore her sinking stomach as she clips Dash’s lead on. All too soon Nicola and Mycroft find themselves facing one another on the pavement outside of 221B. “You’ll text tomorrow?” Again she tries to get him to look at her. 

 

He doesn’t. _“Mm.”_ She stands on her tiptoes, clutching onto his arm for support and pecking him chastely on the lips. He doesn’t make an effort, not even ducking his head and his lips barely flick against hers, before he pulls back again. She gazes up at him, before her feet touch back on the ground. 

 

“Bye then.” She steps away. 

 

“Yes,” his response is short. 

 

Turning slowly Nicola and Dash begin to walk away from him. Mycroft, who has this odd feeling the further they get from him, hesitates now, before he follows, keeping at a discreet distance. 

 

*

 

The Edwardian house where the body of a middle-aged man has been found has been sealed off with blue and white police tape. Nicola thinks it’s her unlucky day when she sees that Sally Donovan is manning the tape on the side that’s closest to her. Not only that, but the female officer is talking to Anderson who’s carrying a plastic cup of coffee in his hand. He’s mostly dressed in a blue forensics suit with plastic bags that cover his shoes and the white mask that he’s been using to cover his mouth is dropping down by his chin. Both of them look at her as she begins to approach with Dash. Donovan folds her arms. None of them notice Mycroft who keeps himself close to the line of parked cars as he too draws near. 

 

“Oh look, it’s the freak’s friend who can’t talk,” Donovan says, as Nicola steps before them. Nicola frowns. “I bet you can really though. Why are you still hanging out with the freak? Got no other friends? Don’t people like the fact that you pretend you can’t speak?” 

 

Feeling intimidated and yes, like she definitely can’t talk in that moment, Nicola looks behind them searchingly for Sherlock. All she wants to do is drop Dash off and then get out of there. She doesn’t want to argue. But she can’t see any sign of the consulting detective. 

 

“Maybe she’s like her friend? Thinks she’s too good to chat to us,” Anderson suggests with a sly smile now and Nicola turns her gaze back to them. Dash lets out a warning growl. 

 

Donovan and Anderson’s eyes go to him, but they’re feeling braver with Nicola now that she’s mostly alone and Sherlock’s not there to get in the way. 

 

“Is it true freak?” Donovan snaps, unfolding her arms. Nicola shakes her head. “Tell us then,” Donovan says cruelly now, “Why don’t you tell us if it’s not true?” Suddenly, and for a reason that Nicola doesn’t understand, Anderson’s eyes grow wide and he nudges at Donovan to be quiet. She looks at Nicola with heat in her eyes as if she might be about to disobey him, but then her gaze flicks to a point behind Nicola. “Come to rescue her have you?” she chides. “If it’s not one Holmes interfering where they’re not wanted then it’s the other.”

 

Not daring to hope Nicola looks over her shoulder just as Dash begins to dance on the spot. Mycroft’s striding towards the scene, now having broken out of his cover and in the middle of the road, practically jogging like a lion that’s close to its prey. She can quite believe that he’s the British Government in that moment, no matter what he might say. He looks powerful and furious. His dark coat makes his tall figure look all the more imposing and shrouds him in a sense of mystery. His face is flushed with a strong sense of contempt. His eyes glitter blue and dark. The umbrella that he holds to the side of him cuts through the air like a weapon. He doesn’t look at Nicola. He stalks straight past her and draws the umbrella up like a sword until the tip of it points right at Donovan’s throat with barely any distance between him and her. Nicola tries to choke out Mycroft’s name, but she can’t. Donovan looks grim, Anderson like he might wet himself. “You are wrong Sergeant Donovan because in this case I am very much wanted,” Mycroft growls, “If I ever personally hear or am told that you’ve been talking to Nicola like that again, goading her and showing a blatant disregard for the terrifying effects of her condition then I will make sure that you and your little friend here never work again. Do I make myself clear? Or perhaps you’d like Dash to illustrate my point more physically?” Nicola’s never heard his voice sound so dangerous before and it sends a shiver down her spine. She can’t know that now things are so good again he’s been thinking and sometimes dreaming about the fire that could have taken her from him, worrying about how it was just through luck that he’d managed to find Christopher and her because Nicola hadn’t been able to call out. He frets that now he’s got everything he never knew he needed it’s only a matter of time, before it will all be taken away from him again. 

 

Donovan gives a little shake of her head. “No,” she says, “You’ve made your point quite clear.”

 

 _“Good.”_ He lowers his umbrella and glowers at her. She retreats a little distance with Anderson and the two mutter close together, sending disdainful glances Nicola and Mycroft’s way. Mycroft eyes them venomously for a moment as if he would quite like to duck beneath the police tape and finish the pair of them off with his umbrella, before he turns back to Nicola. He swoops towards her, his free hand going to her arm. “You’re all right?” his voice sounds a lot softer now and the contrast sends Nicola dizzy. She can barely believe that this is the same man. He peers at her, rubbing at her arm. “I'm sorry if you think that I'm intruding, but I had a strange feeling about me and had to come. If I'm honest then I’d rather keep _‘Cluedo’_ off the list. I don’t want Christopher hanging around crime scenes any more than I want you doing so.” 

 

Her face growing more understanding now she leans up and kisses him. Dash gets them both tangled up in the lead as he weaves around them. “You’re all right?” She pulls back from him, feeling safe. 

 

He pecks her on the cheek. “Of course,” but something still seems off with him. He looks slightly unnerved and once Dash is safe in Sherlock’s care-the youngest Holmes insists on raising his eyebrows at Mycroft-Mycroft walks Nicola home and safely sees her inside, once more not really responding when she should kiss him. 

 

It is fate or perhaps further bad luck that it all comes out that following weekend when they’re at Nicola’s parents house. 

 

Mycroft’s already on edge about meeting them in a more official way, arriving at Nicola’s flat in one of his dark work cars, which reminds her of the ones that her father goes about in and dressed in a dark suit and red tie. He decides though that he absolutely doesn’t look smart enough and must stop back home on their way to their final destination. There he changes into a three-piece navy suit, a white shirt that has light blue stripes upon it and a navy tie. He also has a silver pocket watch. Nicola waits patiently in the car for him. Dash is with Mrs. Hudson today-Nicola had thought that he’d probably have more fun there then being present for the difficult conversations that Mycroft and she need to have with her parents-and as for Mycroft she merely lets him get on with it. She has her badges and her own ways of coping with life. If clothes are his armour and they’ll help him respond to her parents more confidently then who is she to stop him? He returns, looking a little apologetic, but better in himself and she grasps at his hand reassuringly as he sits down, putting it upon her lap and caressing it. 

 

Once Mycroft has sent the driver onwards Nicola begins to murmur things about her parents and childhood to him. She says them so quietly that Mycroft has to tilt his head and practically rest it upon hers to hear, but he doesn’t mind. It just gives him more of a reason to be close to her. “It’s quite a big house…”

 

Mycroft sees as they pull into the driveway that indeed it is. How strange it must have been for Nicola to have gone from this large place where the soil is bare and cold now in the first grasp of winter to the small little flat that she lives in. Yet she seems much more comfortable in the latter place he knows, as if it’s her small, safe den that she can nestle in and be protected from the world. Mycroft feels uneasy. His house might not have the vast gardens that this one does, rather there’s just a lawn at the back that curves around it slightly, but the buildings are not too differently sized. With his only being a touch smaller he wonders if Nicola and Christopher, should they have him, will be at peace there? Nicola kisses at his cheek and he smiles at her. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Again his smile just grows all the wider. 

 

Feeling more assured he follows her out of the car. The driver takes himself off for an hour or two and looking back Mycroft admires the pretty grey stone fountain for a moment with its woodland creatures and young girl upon it, before Nicola takes his hand. 

 

“I used to play around here,” she tells him and he looks at her and then all around them fondly, trying to imagine this young woman being a young girl and skipping on the gravel, perhaps allowing her voice to break free. “It’s where my imagination came to life.” He looks at her with affection again and she squirms in pleasure when he kisses at the top of her hair. They’re about to get carried away and perhaps start kissing properly when the front door opens with a creak and Judy, followed by Harry, burst out onto the scene. Nicola and Mycroft turn away from one another mid-joy to look at her parents. 

 

“Oh Nicola really. You do look in such a state. What if someone was to look out now and see you?” Judy despairs. Nicola decides not to point out the fact that unless said neighbour was carrying binoculars then it would be very hard for them to see anything at all, such is the large separation of the house from any other. What with everything she’s trying her best to be on her most winning form that day. She stoops down resignedly, so that her mother’s beak-like fingers can tidy her up-today she’s got on her blue and black plaid shirt and some jeans. Mycroft steps back to give them some space, but then Nicola’s mother’s gaze goes towards him. She steps back from her daughter and studies him with a frown. Although Nicola had said that Mycroft and she were dating now-though of course Judy and Harry think that they have been doing it a lot longer than they actually have been-it’s becoming increasingly clear that her mother had hoped to see another Mycroft stood in front of her that day, as if there are a whole group of them running around London. “Oh, it’s you isn’t it? The filthy one?” Mycroft flushes beautifully. His appearance after the fire is not how he would have hoped to look, whilst meeting Nicola’s parents for the first time. It is perhaps sub-consciously this, which has made him dress up so much that day. 

 

“Give him a chance Jude.” Harry moves forwards. “The boy has obviously made an effort today. You might want to remember that he only looked that way before because he’d been helping our daughter out of a fire that could have quite easily ended her life.” 

 

“Yes, well”- Judy sniffs, as if they shouldn't even be talking about such things. Her hands dart to Nicola’s collar. Nicola sighs, but lets her get on with it. 

 

“I am very pleased to get the chance to meet the pair of you in happier circumstances,” Mycroft decides to say, offering them his hand in turn. Nicola’s heart flutters at the sight of him getting on with things. She feels pride.

 

“At least you have manners,” Judy acknowledges, before she looks back at her daughter again. “But I would have preferred it if you’d settled for someone your own age Nicola dear. I mean what am I meant to tell my friends when they ask and what on earth are the pair of you going to talk about?” She lets out an exaggerated laugh now. 

 

Nicola feels dismayed, Mycroft stung. He clutches onto Nicola’s hand automatically. 

 

“I'm sure they've plenty to talk about,” Harry says, noting the gesture. 

 

“Maybe for now,” Judy relents, fed up of her husband interfering, “But for goodness sake in years to come, if they even get that far, then what are they going to discuss? He’ll be on a Zimmer frame, whilst she’ll still be capable of so much.” Judy turns around and swans back into the house. Flushing and thinking that’s him told Mycroft withdraws his hand from Nicola’s. 

 

Looking at him she can see what’s on his mind. He wants to go already. She feels panicked. 

 

Thankfully Harry comes to her aid. “Mycroft.” He places a hand on the younger man’s arm. “You’ll have to forgive my wife. She’s still getting used to the idea of you both I'm sure, but she’ll come around. She just needs a bit more time.” Mycroft ducks his head, thinking hard. “I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to make your visit run smoothly. Both my wife and I, no matter how much she might avert her eyes when the time suits her, can see just how happy you’ve made our Nic and we wish to thank you for that.” Both Mycroft and Nicola blush pleasantly as they look at one another. She swings their hands, mouth grinning shyly. He can’t help but smile too. “That’s what matters. Don’t let her words spoil your day. Please come inside with us and have a nice meal.” Slowly Mycroft nods. “Good man.” Harry claps him on the shoulder, letting out a breath of relief. Nicola squeezes at her boyfriend’s hand, looking pleased. 

 

A jasmine scent wafts through the house, which Mycroft can trace back to Judy when she begins to serve the meal. It’s roast chicken with a mass of mashed potato, roasted parsnips, broccoli, carrots, sprouts and gravy. A large red jelly wobbles in the middle of the dark wooden oval table for dessert. Mycroft imagines that Christopher would like it and begins to get a hold of himself again as he sits down next to Nicola, though the proximity of the candles to the jelly does rather unnerve him. So too does the fact that framed on the walls are portraits of people, not painted, but knitted. It is all a little odd, but he compliments Judy on the house anyway because she is Nicola’s mother and in any case he can hardly claim to have a family that isn’t bizarre. He enquires politely about the vegetables that might grow outside in the summer months and makes sure to tell her that the meal is simply delicious, which in actual fact it is, but of course the topic gets changed to him all too quickly. 

 

“What is it that you do then?” Judy asks. “Nicola never explained properly on the phone.” She looks at her daughter disapprovingly. 

 

“I have a job in the government. Nothing all too important I'm afraid, but it pays the bills.” He is quick to look down and tuck into some more of his mashed potato. 

 

“In what department if I might ask?” Judy’s fork stabs at one of the sprouts. “Might you have room to go up in the world?” When Mycroft hesitates she adds, “I can see how at first you might not think it any of my business Mr. Holmes, but I want my daughter to be secure. An older man should at least be able to offer her that. You don’t expect her to _pay_ for all your care bills?”

 

“No, no of course not.” Mycroft is flustered and embarrassed. His cutlery chinks against the side of his plate as he tries to seize them and eat again. 

 

 _“Judy,”_ Harry utters a warning. Nicola is open-mouthed in shock at her mother’s words. But still Judy stares at Mycroft expectantly. He nearly chokes on a piece of carrot that is hidden amongst the mashed potato and a slither of gravy dribbles down his chin. Judy looks away in disgust as if to say that an older man should also be expected to be tidy too. Mycroft cleans himself up with the napkin, feeling small. “It doesn’t matter what department,” Harry is forced into cheerfulness. “A government job is very good whatever it is. Well done Mycroft.” He tries to be jovial. 

 

“He could be a bin cleaner!” Typical of Judy to point that out. 

 

“Does he _look_ like a bin cleaner?” Harry retorts. 

 

“Are your parents too in the government?” Judy persists, turning away from her husband and trying to find out what sort of class Mycroft comes from. 

 

“My uncle is,” Mycroft says, half-glancing at Nicola nervously, for he does not want her to question him about such a thing later. She looks perfectly at ease with the information though, so he goes on, “As for my mother she’s written some books on mathematics.” In her mind Nicola paints some glasses onto the fairly normal people Mycroft had labelled his parents as being the other day. She’s interested in hearing about all of his family, about anything that he has to say in fact, but she can’t help but feel a little intimidated by the thought of his parents. As if he senses such a thing Mycroft absent-mindedly takes her hand. “She was a professor for some time at Cambridge. Then she had my brother and I”-so used he is to not mentioning Eurus by this point that it quite naturally rolls off his tongue-“And took a sabbatical, which perhaps unfortunately for her became another sabbatical”-

 

“Quite right too,” Judy interrupts now when Mycroft pulls a bit of an awkward face. “A woman’s place, once she’s had her children and saved up a bit of money from a job, is in the home, but before she reaches that point I always thought that Nicola could be a teacher.” Nicola feels a significant amount of surprise. “I mean she wouldn't be any good at disciplining the children.” Judy sniffs and both Nicola and Mycroft feel a little bit awkward about that. “But there’s always been this academic side to her.” 

 

Seeing that, that point has come to an end Judy moves the discussion onto more wider matters, first navigating the weather and then the state of society itself. It’s when Judy comments, “…Really is going downhill though. You see so many articles in the newspapers about violent crime these days. Most of them are done by drug users no doubt, people off their heads that have got no control about them,” that Mycroft cannot take it any longer. Feeling sick and hot he leans forwards, hands hovering over his cutlery, before he has to sit back again. 

 

“If I may be excused to use your bathroom?” Nicola touches at his arm when he says such words, but he does not look at her. He _can’t_ look at her. 

 

“Of course. First door on the landing,” Judy says. Mycroft nods and leaves without further ado. Judy looks at Nicola. “I’m afraid my dear that he seems a little delicate”-

 

“He may be, but I am strong enough for the both of us,” Nicola gets the words out defiantly, before she looks off in the direction that Mycroft had gone, eyes quickly burning with tears. 

 

“Well I don’t think the relationship will last. You would be better off looking elsewhere.” Judy tries to maintain the upper hand. 

 

 _“Nic?_ Is there something that you need to tell us? About Mycroft or-?” Harry intervenes when his daughter does not say anything. 

 

She looks back at him a little desperately. Even focusing hard though she cannot talk in that moment and turns to text-to-speech. There she puts, _‘My relationship with Mycroft is built to last Daddy. Mycroft and I have decided that we’re going to adopt the little boy who started the fire together. I’ll have to wait until I'm twenty-one to do it properly, but we’re laying the ground work now.’_

 

“What on earth is this nonsense?” Judy exclaims, looking more and more purple, whilst Harry looks pale and concerned. Judy releases a mocking laugh when Nicola gets up the courage to look at her. “Oh my dear-surely you can’t believe that Mycroft and you are any where near ready for such a thing? And why not just have one of your own instead? I applaud you for trying to be more normal Nicola, but this isn’t just another one of your stories. You can’t just _write_ yourself a happy ending!” _‘Yes I can,’_ Nicola thinks defiantly. “It takes work”-

 

“I know what work it takes Mother! Probably more than you do!” Nicola is on her feet and furious now. With shaking nerves she goes off to find Mycroft. He _is_ in the bathroom, which surprises her a bit. She’d have thought that he might have fled to a part of the house that was further away. That’s what _she_ would have done. But he is not her she knows and she can hear his voice talking to someone on the phone. 

 

“…Yes, of course I was going to tell you,” he sounds pedantic and child like, “No, Sherlock had no right to go poking his nose in. He’s not being the grown up here Mummy”-more passionate now-“I was just-yes of course you’ll get to meet her, but it’s early days.” Something in Nicola’s stomach swoops. Is that _really_ how he feels? Is he not viewing the relationship as seriously as she’d thought he was? “The adoption? Yes I know that you have to be twenty-one. Nicola told me, so you wasted your time looking it up online. Yes, I understand why it might look like we’re rushing Mummy”-Nicola’s heart sinks-“But-yes I know you don’t mean any offence by it”-he lowers his voice more urgently-“I know you’re glad that I’ve found someone. I could tell by the way that you nearly deafened me. No, I'm not being rude Mummy. It’s this boy though. Nicola adores him and quite frankly…I know, yes I appreciate that it’s a big step. Well, there’s no point in you meeting him as well. _Why?”_ Nicola’s heart feels painful inside her chest. “Well I probably won’t be going through with my part now, that’s why.” Mycroft breathes heavily. Nicola feels close to tears. “Goodbye Mummy.” Mycroft swings around and opens the door, before Nicola can hide herself. _“Nicola!”_ His face blanches. She turns and hurries downstairs, face dry from tears though on the inside she’s a mess. “Nicola! Please wait.” Mycroft, getting himself together, hurries after her. 

 

She brushes past the entrance to the dining room just as Judy leaves it and makes for the outdoors. Helpless Mycroft strides quickly after her. 

 

 _“See?”_ Judy says with a sniff when Harry joins her. “I told you that it wouldn't last.”

 

“Oh Judy. What have you started?” Harry looks troubled. 

 

Mycroft follows Nicola to her spot on the brick wall over by the bare vegetable patches. It is the same spot where she’d used to sit on as a child though he of course cannot know that. He observes her ducked head and thoughtful body language, the way that her eyes are scanning across the ground quickly, before he awkwardly hoists himself up on the small wall beside her. She grasps at his hand now and draws it across to her lap, examining his fingers. “I'm sorry,” Mycroft tells her a little breathlessly, feeling glad that she’s hanging onto him rather than pushing him away, “I never meant for you to hear any of that.” Nicola can tell. “I just-well I-forgive me, but when your mother said what she did, well I couldn't help, but think how Sherlock could have been one of those people.” 

 

 _‘Sherlock has a good big brother.’_ Mycroft winces at her praise, even though it comes from text-to-speech. 

 

“He also has good friends like John and you,” he says, trying to appreciate her. 

 

She’s businesslike. _‘You don’t want to go through with the adoption? Or you only wanted to go through with it in the first place because of me? Because it doesn’t mean that we have to stop seeing each other Mycroft, but I do need to know what you want here.’_

 

He swallows and draws his hand away from hers, clutching at his knee instead. He looks across at the house. He can make out the figures of Judy and Harry watching them from just outside the front door and feels even more awkward because of it. “It’s not any of that exactly”-

 

 _‘What then? It’s not like you to give up so easily.’_ Mycroft knows it isn’t, but when he can’t for a moment put all his feelings into words she puts in a text, _It’s okay. I get it. We've just told Christopher and now our parents know too and although it’s still some time away it’s starting to feel more real to you now and you’ve realized what you really want. I hope you can still see him sometimes though if I'm lucky enough to adopt him and thank you for agreeing to it all in the first place._ She slides off the wall. 

 

“No, it’s not just that,” he mutters, trying to read her message and stop her from going at the same time. Neutral expression on she looks back at him. “It’s just-well-what if they’re _right?”_ He waves a hand hopelessly at her parents. “We want to be together now, but what if I really _am_ too old for you? And it’s this _house…_ you don’t much like it here I can tell, but my place as you know is more similar to this than your flat.” She sighs at him impatiently now. She doesn’t have time to mess around, especially when Christopher’s involved. Mycroft’s either on board here or he’s not. “What if you don’t like living with me and everything becomes too difficult? It might be easier for us to be realistic about things now, especially for Christopher’s sake. I don’t want to confuse him. I do want to adopt him. It’s not to get in your good books.” 

 

She feels torn. Her head is telling her to just carry on with the adoption of Christopher by herself because at least that way she’ll know where she stands. Her heart though loves him and tells her that this is more delayed shock coming from his end than anything else. _Maybe, but you’re not fooling me. What is it that_ you _want to do? Not what you think you should do? Doubt and fear are perfectly natural in this situation. We both know that this isn’t going to be easy. But you need to consider what you want and not what everyone else might. Whatever you want is what you should really do._

 

He glances up from her message, face shining with light and hope once more and that’s when she really knows they’re in this together. That they always have been and that this was just silly doubt playing on Mycroft’s mind. He slides off the wall and kisses her, one arm wrapping around her waist. 

 

“I'm sorry about my mother,” she murmurs now as he cradles at her cheeks, making sure that she’s all right. “I don’t want you to think that by being with me you’re betraying Sherlock or where you come from.” He shakes his head. “Before I moved into 221C my views about the homeless were a little sketchy”-Mycroft smiles in a watery fashion now-“But I’ve never felt that way about drugs and by the time I found out that Sherlock had done them he was already too much of a good friend, so I”-

 

“I know.” He swipes his thumb across her cheek. “I'm sorry for”-

 

 _“Shh.”_ She caresses at the side of his hair. His lips find hers once more, tongue sliding against them and asking for entry. She lets out a relieved sort of shudder inside his mouth, hand rising to his waist, before they withdraw once more. 

 

Hand in hand they walk back to Nicola’s parents. 

 

 _“Nic?_ Can I have a word?” Harry asks his daughter solemnly. 

 

“Sure thing Dad.” They go off together now. 

 

Judy looks at Mycroft sternly. “You better take good care of my daughter Mr. Holmes.”

 

“It might surprise you,” Mycroft, not knowing where this sudden confidence has come from, but knowing that it has something to do with Nicola reacts calmly, “But I'm just trying to do right by her like you are. I don’t mean to cause her any distress.”

 

Judy sniffs. 

 

Harry, hand on Nicola’s shoulder, meanwhile leads her around to the side of the property. “You’re sure about this Nic?” He looks down. “Because as much as I might disagree with the way that she worded it you’re mother’s right in one sense. You _don’t_ have to do everything. I know you’re a great adventurer, but you’re not superwoman.” 

 

With a defiant look on her face she nods. “Christopher needs me Daddy.”

 

“I think they both do,” Harry is honest with her now and pulls her to him, kissing her on the top of the head, whilst Nicola feels confused. What does he mean by that? 

 

*

 

Later on Mycroft makes the black car stop just around the corner from Baker Street, so that he can walk Nicola to the door and they can exchange a moment of greater privacy, but lo and behold as they approach hand in hand, Mycroft’s umbrella swinging off his other arm, there is none other than Violet on the doorstep and his father Edwin who is clad in a bow-tie and cardigan and whose shock of white hair blows a little in the wind. His eyes look crinkled and kind beneath it, but Mycroft pulls away from Nicola at once, blushing a little, and as Nicola looks between him and the newcomers she begins to understand. 

 

“Mummy you really should have knocked if you wanted to go in. I'm sure that even if Sherlock didn't then Mrs. Hudson would have”-

 

“Sherlock informed us that you probably wouldn't be coming in yourself Mycroft dear and since it’s _you_ that we wanted to see…” Violet looks at him severely now, before her eyes roam across to Nicola. “It’s a pleasure to meet you dear.” Nicola nods and tries to smile, but finds herself suddenly unable to speak. Violet looks questioning. 

 

“My brother would have also done well, since he saw fit to inform you both about so many things in the first place,” Mycroft grumbles, “To tell you that Nicola has selective mutism. It means that she can’t always speak, but I hope that you can both see as clearly as I can that she is far from being stupid?” He is evidently trying to make up for earlier and Nicola looks at him gratefully. 

 

“Your brother dear was trying to keep us up to date since you won’t tell us anything.” Violet shakes her head, but can’t help but shoot Nicola a fond glance. She might not have the full grasp of the woman yet, but she feels grateful to her for finally making Mycroft pursue something more pleasurable instead of being so serious all the time. 

 

“I do communicate with you Mummy that is most unfair,” Mycroft really can’t help himself. Nicola taps on his hand to tell him to hush. He looks at her, before he lets out a bit of a sigh, slouching a little as he closes his mouth. 

 

“Well, it’s nice to see that you’ll listen to one of us at any rate,” Violet says with a little wink at Nicola. The younger woman smiles. 

 

*

 

Things begin to settle down into more of a pleasant routine at that point. Mycroft and Nicola text when they cannot see one another and manage to make time to see each other in person on most weekends. They see Christopher every other weekend, taking him out and they also spend a fair amount of time with both sets of parents when they can, so that everyone can get used to them being a couple. Violet and Edwin have taken to Christopher and have started doting on him with sweets and giving him books that he might enjoy. Nicola finds them both to be a lot more ordinary than she’d imagined they would be and feels far more relaxed around them now. Harry is prouder of is daughter than ever, especially where Christopher is concerned, but Judy, as is natural for her, is taking a bit longer to warm up to it all. Nicola knows that she’ll get there eventually though and that she just has to be patient. Nicola and Mycroft prefer it when they’re with Christopher and Dash alone. Truly when they’re taking walks through the park together or even just playing board games in 221C- _‘Cluedo’_ has made the list of acceptable games along with _‘Pay Day,’_ _‘Trivial Pursuit’_ and _‘Monopoly’_ after Sherlock had threatened to never speak to any of them ever again if it didn't despite Mycroft joking that it would be a blessing in disguise if his brother did so-they feel like a little family. Nicola can’t help but laugh every time that Mycroft should tut or look pointedly at the ceiling whenever his brother is making a racket upstairs-Sherlock clearly thinks that Christopher should be spending more time with him and is a little jealous from seeing Nicola less too. Whilst Mycroft smiles at the sight of Nicola caring for Christopher, bringing him a hot chocolate when he’s cold or more often than not helping him with his reading. He’s really progressing quite well now and is far more vocal and carefree like a child should be, though loud sounds and the sudden appearance of strangers still scare him. They’re even allowed to have him spend the night every now and again-this always takes place at Mycroft’s to prepare Christopher for where they hope he’ll eventually be living and it helps get Nicola more set-up too. She stays around sometimes without Christopher being there and loses her virginity to Mycroft in a night that is tender and loving, though it does hurt a little more and is messier than she’d expected it to be. Mycroft is wonderful though, checking if she is all right with everything and tracing lines of kisses all over her body. Ever inch of her has never felt so loved. Christopher meanwhile might have the odd nightmare about being taken away from his mother whenever he stays there, but Nicola gives him ginger nuts and a glass of milk to make up for it just as her father had when she was little and the boy soon recovers. All looks smooth for his official adoption by them and they couldn't be any happier. 

 

Soon another year has gone by and they find themselves in November 2011. Nicola has recently moved into Mycroft’s house. The beauty of the thing was that Sherlock hadn’t even had much time to throw a strop or sulk about it all because after solving the case of a missing painting he has been far busier with clients and is better known than before. He had given her a delicate hug though as she’d left. 

 

At first it feels like an ordinary day. Nicola rises to find that Mycroft has already left for work and gets ready for her own day. She’s got the morning to herself and then will be visiting a couple of schools that afternoon. She spends the morning pottering about and sorting the desk in the little room upstairs that Mycroft had said she could have all for herself to study in or to just take a moment in if she needed it. They’re both used to being individuals so she’d appreciated the thoughtful gesture. The desk looks out over the small driveway. It looks like it might spot with rain later on as the sky is quite ominous looking, but for now it’s dry. She has fun sorting out the bits and bobs of stationary and putting framed photos of her parents, Christopher and Mycroft on the desk, adjusting them just so, before she steels herself and goes back to her writing. A lot seems to have happened since she last wrote about the character who’s based on herself and Kammy and Dash rests patiently at her feet, whilst she hums and re-acquaints herself. One day she hopes that they might be discovered by Christopher and other children too, but for now she just gets down to the business of writing them more adventures. 

 

That afternoon she’s just arriving at one of the schools, taking her gloves off in the reception area and stuffing them in her bag when she catches sight of the small TV that’s on in the corner, jutting out from the wall. The BBC News is playing silently on it and her heart almost jumps right out of her chest when she sees the headline: SHERLOCK HOLMES DEAD followed by _‘Consulting Detective jumps to death off roof of St. Barts Hospital in apparent suicide.’_ Nicola’s mouth opens. One of her black gloves slips down to the floor. She feels cold and in shock. 

 

“Nicola, is everything all right?” a dark-haired teacher called Reetu who Nicola is familiar with asks on her way further into the school. 

 

A jumbled mess Nicola’s mouth just opens and shuts again, before she turns around. Dash looks up at her in concern. Nicola goes back out once more, finds a cab and then writes down the address for him because she is so stunned; barely paying any attention to the fact that he tells her that she’ll have to pay an extra amount because of Dash. On her way home she tries to call Mycroft repeatedly, but he does not answer. She hopes that he will be at home, but when he is not she goes out again and heads for 221B instead. Mrs. Hudson’s outside as if she’s waiting anxiously in the hope that she might see someone and she hugs Nicola tightly. Dash pants and grunts beside them as if the whole thing unsettles him. 

 

“Oh Nicola it’s just awful.” Mrs. Hudson pulls back now. “I just can’t believe it. I never thought he’d do anything like that. I know that his work’s been busy of late, but he didn't seem to be in any trouble or anything like that.” The older woman seems just as teary and confused as she is and Nicola nods. Hearing Mrs. Hudson talk about it just seems to make it all the more real and horrifying. Can it be true? Will she never see Sherlock again? Never hear him play the violin? Be sarcastic? Not see the happy grin, which he hadn’t been able to help the more that Christopher visited? Her heart feels like breaking and tears swim close to her eyes. He’ll never ask to borrow Dash ever again. Never be there on the day that Mycroft and she finally adopt Christopher. She’d imagined the happy gathering in her head. Both Mycroft and her parents there, all their friends. Mycroft would be popping champagne, whilst Sherlock looked on and Christopher nervously smiled, secretly happy about all the fuss that was being shown his way. Suddenly it is unbearable and Nicola finds herself hugging Mrs. Hudson once more. Dash whines softly. Nicola and Mrs. Hudson pat at each other’s backs. 

 

When Nicola next gets home it is to find Mycroft sitting right on the edge of one of the armchairs in the sitting room. Dash keeps his distance, whilst Nicola approaches Mycroft cautiously. She crouches down in front of him and takes his hands slowly in between hers. He’d been staring into space in shock, whilst he ran all over his mind palace, searching and searching for Sherlock cannot be gone and screaming himself hoarse, whilst in reality a half drunk bottle of scotch sits on the side-table beside him, its contents not numbing him anywhere near quickly enough. Now however he says out loud brokenly, “I should have been there for him. He was my brother and he needed me and where was I? At work as I usually am.” Nicola makes a quashing sound. In her opinion Mycroft has never stopped being there for Sherlock. She rises and swoops down, taking him in her arms. “I’d tried talking to him,” Mycroft confesses into her shoulder, obviously confused, “I’d tried, but each time he told me that he was busy. That he didn't have time for my worrying. I think that was the last thing he said to me and I should have tried harder. Maybe I could have spotted something?” Nicola makes a hushing sound now and attempts to keep the pieces of him together, broken as they are. “I should have been there for him.” He pushes his head into her shoulder again.

 

*

 

John comes around the next day. Nicola tries to pass on her sympathies to him and look after him, _but,_ and very carefully avoiding her eyes he asks if Mycroft’s in. She shows him through to Mycroft’s study downstairs where the man has been lurking all morning and gives them some space, lingering in the kitchen, so that she might hear when John goes. She thinks that he might pop his head around the corner and say goodbye to her before he leaves, but he just lets himself out and she emerges when she hears the door clicking shut. She hesitates, before she moves towards Mycroft’s study. Standing just outside the door she can hear the sound of groaning and wheezing and enters it cautiously. What she sees both frightens and shocks her. Mycroft is leaning against his desk and he looks so utterly beside himself. She’d heard him crying and whimpering to himself the previous night when he’d believed her to be asleep and as much as it had hurt her she’d kept up the pretence in order for him to let some of his emotions out, but that is nothing compared to this and this is not something she can pretend she hasn’t seen. He tries to turn from her and hide his face, but very gently she goes over there and turns him back around again, grasping at his arms, so that he will reveal his face. Copious amounts of tears lay there, his body sags like a puppet with broken strings and his chest shudders and rattles with the force of each sob. Behind him papers look close to falling off his desk. She wraps her arms around him. 

 

“What did John say?” she asks, feeling protective of the man who’s gasping and clutching at her as he tries so valiantly not to fall apart. 

 

Mycroft won’t tell her. He just keeps repeating “…It’s all my fault…It’s all my fault,” and Nicola feels annoyed with John for making him feel such a thing. He might not ever have had much time for Mycroft, but how _dare_ he make him feel like this now!

 

She’s not happy either with the way that her mother has been calling and texting her with mental health facts and warning her that if Sherlock has done this then Mycroft might end up doing it too. In the end she just tells her to go the hell away, which gets her father talking to her reprovingly later. 

 

*

 

“Is Sherlock really gone?” Christopher, stood in front of the mirror in the room in Mycroft’s house that he stays in for overnight visits asks Nicola who’s stood by the bed behind him, wool-gathering, whilst she adjusts the duvet cover. 

 

“Yes,” Nicola replies quietly, looking across at where Christopher is stood in the slightly baggy dark suit that they’d got for him, white shirt, dark tie and polished shoes. Nicola’s tried to comb his hair, but some of it still sticks up. “He’s really gone sweetheart.” She comes over in the dark dress she’s got on, which doesn’t disguise the bit of weight that she’s lost, making her already bony appearance look all the more so. She knows that if her mother could see her in that moment then she’d be horrified and probably forbid her from leaving the house. Not caring she puts a hand upon Christopher’s shoulder. _“Ready?”_

 

“Ready.” He nods. 

 

“You look so smart,” she murmurs proudly, before she takes his hand and guides him downstairs. Dash, who had been lingering on the landing, follows after them mournfully. 

 

Mycroft’s stood at the bottom of the stairs, examining his pale reflection in the oval mirror in the hallway, tucking a hair back into place. He’s put on weight and his body fills out the suit that he’s wearing, stretching its buttons close to breaking point. Nicola’s worried about him. But he hasn’t cried, at least not in front of her or within her hearing range, since the day that John had come around and when he turns to look at them both his face wears a steely sort of composure on it. “Christopher,” he says, “Thank you for coming today. It means a lot to me.”

 

The little boy nods and Nicola urges him down the rest of the stairs. “Come on sweetheart.” She grasps at Mycroft’s arm and he bows his head, face once again showing no sign of cracking. 

 

She links one of her arms through Mycroft’s and the other through Christopher’s, guiding them slowly out to meet the hearse. Edwin and Violet are already waiting outside. John and the others will meet them in the church. 

 

They’re by Sherlock’s graveside later on when Christopher, looking owlishly around at all the people that have come, asks, “Sherlock was a good man wasn’t he?”

 

“The best,” Mycroft says, voice a little thick now. Nicola’s heart breaks and she holds onto him tightly. 

 

*

 

Time seems stuck in a hue of grey for a long time after that, but slowly patches of light begin to burst through again. John, who Nicola has forgiven for upsetting Mycroft, but who she has less to do with since Sherlock’s gone, finds himself a serious girlfriend in Mary Morstan and on Nicola’s twenty-first birthday in March 2012, the day comes where Mycroft and she finally get to take Christopher home for good. She suspects that Mycroft, no matter what he might say about his lowly rank, might have helped swing such a thing to happen on that day though she accepts too that with them having built up their relationship with Christopher steadily over the years the three of them couldn't be any more ready for it. Especially since Karen had finally given them permission to adopt Christopher-albeit not to them directly. It is a quieter affair than Nicola had imagined, but no less meaningful. They gather in the modern kitchen, just the three of them, _and,_ as Nicola cuts up a slice of cake for them all on the kitchen island and pours the lemonade she looks up to where Mycroft and Christopher are. Mycroft is sitting by the wooden table and the boy is stood near by. Dash is panting happily and Nicola sees Mycroft smiling properly at her for what feels like the first time in months. She watches him as he looks back at Christopher. There is a glow about him and feeing happy she genuinely believes in that moment that things might turn out all right after all. 

 

*

 

A little blue line appearing on a stick just over two weeks later seems to confirm such a thing even more and both Mycroft and she are delighted. He lifts her up and spins her all around, peppering kisses all over her face. “This is just what we need!” he exclaims and Nicola cries tears of joy because she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so happy before. 

 

“What’s going on?” Christopher walks into the kitchen with an empty glass looking confused. 

 

Nicola half-turns away from him, so that he won’t think her upset about anything if he should see the dampness upon her face. “Nothing sweetheart.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything’s fine.” Beside her Mycroft beams. 

 

* 

 

One day, a month after Christopher had finally come to live with them, Nicola arrives home from work to find the small boy dressed oddly as a waiter when she opens the door. He even has a towel over his arm and his hair is smoothed down with gel. 

 

 _“Christopher?_ I tried to ring. They said that Mycroft had already picked you up at school. Is everything all right?” Silently he guides her towards the entrance to the kitchen. Nicola thinks that she can smell chicken. Perhaps they’re having a celebration of Christopher being with them for a month? Just before they can get there though Mycroft steps out. He usually looks stunning, but he does so even more that late afternoon, hair carefully combed and if she’s not mistaken also with a bit of gel to one side, grey and navy checked suit on, white shirt, silver pocket watch and a light blue tie and pocket handkerchief to match the slight twinkle that’s in his eyes and the quirk of mischief that’s about his lips. His eyelashes seem to stand out even more against his skin and the closer she gets the more that she wants to kiss him. As if he senses such a thing he pecks her chastely upon the cheek. She looks at him, eyebrows raised because that wasn’t quite what she had in mind. With a smile Mycroft guides her through to the glowing light that’s coming out of the darkness that the kitchen is shrouded in despite the early time due to the blinds being drawn and she follows after him carefully, appreciating the firm grasp of his hand. Once they’re all in there he lets go of her again. 

 

She lets out a breath. Beyond the beautifully set table with its red tablecloth, seats for two, purple napkins and beautiful gleaming white plates that have flowers upon their edges and are in between a set of three red candles, lights that form the shape of words glow on the far wall. _‘Marry Me?’_ they ask, shining as much as Mycroft’s eyes had done earlier, but not in a way that dazzles and upsets her. Mycroft is now looking at her with a nervous calculation about his face, as if trying to work out not only what her answer will be, but whether he has presented it in the right way or not. Overcome and lost for words and not because of her condition for once Nicola nods eagerly and throws herself into his arms. Grunting he happily catches her, kissing the top of her hair. Christopher smiles and touches at Dash who does a tap-dance of excitement on the kitchen floor. 

 

*

 

“You said that there would be no more children,” Christopher whines. “I don’t understand why you need another. Aren’t I good enough for you?” The boy is sulking as he sits on one of the armchairs in the sitting room. Nicola is crouched before him and Mycroft hovers by the entranceway. They had both rather been dreading telling Christopher about the baby, knowing that it would be a complex and perhaps difficult thing for the boy to process considering what he has been through in his life and the death of his sister. But it had been the day of Nicola’s first scan and encouraged by the fact that everything had seemed all right with the life inside her as well as being equipped with the sonogram they thought that they might actually start sharing the news with friends and family and of course Christopher was at the top of that list. Dash, it appeared from the way he’s been starting to cling to Nicola all the more and be all the more protective, already knows. 

 

“Of course you are and we didn't lie.” Nicola squeezes at the hands of the boy who she considers her son. “At the time we adopted you there _were_ no other children and there won’t be for a while yet, but it’s like I said before, you don’t know what the future’s going to hold,” she sounds wistful now. She knows that Christopher’s probably more apprehensive about it than anything else. “But just because Mycroft and I are having a baby together does not mean that we love you any less or that we’re replacing you in any way. We love you Christopher. We haven’t got bored of you, you’ve done nothing wrong and we’re not going to stop spending time with you. You will be equally important to this baby. Mycroft and I aren't going anywhere from your life. Is that clear?”

 

Christopher nods, but still looks dubious about the whole thing. 

 

 _“Actually,”_ Mycroft says, feeling braver and coming away from the spot by the entranceway now that Nicola has done the initial talk, “We were wondering if you might be so good enough to help us come up with a name Christopher?” 

 

Christopher looks more excited about the prospect, before he murmurs promptly, “My sister’s name was Sophie.” He looks mixed about the fact-part determined, part pained. 

 

“That’s a nice name.” Nicola looks at Mycroft now. He looks at her thoughtfully. 

 

*

 

 _“Well,”_ Judy sniffs, once Nicola and Mycroft who have also been keeping their upcoming nuptials quiet, reveal their wedding plans to Harry and her in the kitchen of Nicola’s parents house that following Saturday. Christopher and Dash run about playing in between them all. “At least you won’t have to think about children.”

 

Mycroft and Nicola exchange a glance. There’s a twinkle in Mycroft’s eye and a crooked grin about his lips. Nicola’s got a shy smile and fidgeting hands about her too. 

 

“Oh for goodness sake,” Judy, waving a hand, rushes out of the room. 

 

Harry on the other hand embraces his daughter. “I'm very proud of you,” he says. 

 

“Why does Judy not like the thought of you getting married and having children?” Christopher is keen to know. 

 

“It’s because”- Harry reaches down to tickle him now and Christopher lets out a burst of laughter, before his grandfather’s hands can even make contact with him. The boy squirms and writhes once they do. Nicola and Mycroft look upon the scene fondly. “Judy likes having you all to herself.” Harry makes lots of tickle monster sounds now, causing the boy to laugh. 

 

Once he’s calmed down a little Christopher says, “I don’t think _that’s_ true.”

 

They all chuckle at that. Judy may not have been outwardly rude to the boy, but he’s definitely a good judge of character. 

 

*

 

Nicola and Mycroft get married in a small ceremony just before she starts to show. Attended by both sets of parents-though the mothers have proved troublesome, competing with one another and even now trying to get one up on the other by wearing the biggest hat and shooting sly looks across the aisle-they have Christopher as Mycroft’s Best Man, which is truly the most wonderful and hopeful option since Sherlock is unable to be there, Clarice, who is very excited about them being together and not only that but that they’re getting married too, as the Flower Girl and Dash as the ring bearer. A lot of people coo as he comes down the aisle, tail wagging in a bashful manner for him, rings in a small box that’s been fastened to his collar. Judy isn’t one of the people who find this amusing though. Mrs. Hudson on the other hand seems to find the idea a particularly wonderful one and Mary who attends with a happier looking John Watson also finds that her eyes light up at the sight. She points to the dog with a small smile upon her face. Mycroft senses that John had only attended begrudgingly, but is glad to have him there nonetheless. He had been close to Sherlock after all. Nicola, who had not wanted that moment of everyone looking at her walking down the aisle, much less to wear a dress is down the aisle from the very start and in a pinstripe brown trouser suit, which she feels far more comfortable in. It goes with her gingery blonde hair nicely and compliments the navy suit that Mycroft has chosen to wear. Judy had moaned about her daughter’s choice of attire right up until the last moment when she’d chosen to smarten her up- _‘Really Nicola, you can’t even dress up for your own wedding day.’_ All together though everyone looks really neat and they couldn't be any happier. Instead of both saying the vows out loud, which Nicola had thought that she might find impossible, there is a large piece of paper stuck to the wall with a projector screen above it that shows the audience the vows as both Mycroft and Nicola take turns in painting them on the paper-a much more meaningful way in both of their opinions as it gets them considering every word of the non-traditional vows that they've picked out and can later be framed as the most special of keepsakes. A ring has been drawn at the bottom of the paper by Nicola and once Mycroft has vowed to always treat Nicola with understanding, to offer her his protection and to love and trust her no matter what the future might hold for them and she has sworn likewise they leave a hand print in different colours either side of it, bringing their individuality as they join together as one. Mycroft thinks that his brother would have definitely appreciated the unique ceremony and the crowd they do have seem charmed by it all, especially Celia who tells them later that she’ll be speaking of this day for years to come. It even distracts Greg from the thought of his next drink. Once Mycroft and Nicola have kissed chastely in between the two exotic looking fronds, which sway towards them both, Mycroft’s eyes tender and a smile creeping onto Nicola’s face at the sight of him, they make their way into the world once more, this time as husband and wife. 

 

*

 

Sophie Sherlock Holmes is born late on Christmas Eve and past her early December due date like an early Christmas present. She is doted on at once by everybody, but none more so than Christopher who holds and tends to her as often as he can. He even helps Nicola read to her, something which she begins more or less straight away and shows every sign of being a brilliant older brother just like Mycroft was. 

 

*

 

It’s the storm in November 2013 that starts everything off again, the jagged lightning, the thunder that goes boom-boom-boom and shuts all the electricity in the house down. Nicola checks on Sophie and makes sure that she’s all right, before she goes to the bedroom that she shares with Mycroft and curls up underneath the duvet just as she always does when it’s stormy outside. The loyal Dash lies on the floor and whines. Whilst it’s not long before Mycroft and Christopher join them. Christopher lets Nicola hold onto him for reassurance, whilst Mycroft clutches onto her waist from behind. Together they wait it out and although Nicola’s heart jumps uneasily every time she hears thunder and her eyes close tight, finally she feels comforted enough by those around her to fall asleep. 

 

* 

 

That next morning is a Saturday and when Nicola awakes it is to discover that Christopher, who has rolled free in the night, now has his back to her, fringe flopping down over his forehead. Mycroft must have already got up and either be tending to Sophie or be downstairs since he’s not in bed any more. Nicola groans and wriggles up. Everything seems bathed in light and fresher now that the storm has passed. The light wallpaper and the mirror on the small dresser help with this effect. She feels a knot or two loosening in her stomach as she looks around her, noticing Dash sleeping close to the bed and then she looks back down at her son, tenderly making to kiss the soft part just behind his ear. He smells faintly of milk and the honey from the toast that Mycroft had made him the previous night. She gets out of bed, dresses and uses the bathroom, taking her time. She peers in at Sophie who is fast asleep-honestly that child could sleep for England!-and drifts downstairs. Mycroft’s making them all breakfast in the kitchen and looks relieved to see her. 

 

“Feeling all right after last night?” he checks, half an eye on the blueberry pancakes that he’s making for them all as a treat. 

 

She nods. “Thank you for coming to join me and for bringing Christopher too…” She can never properly tell him just how much little gestures like that mean to her. 

 

“It’s fine.” He pecks her on the lips when she joins him, massaging his shoulders. “I know how much you hate them and Christopher was all a tremble himself.”

 

“Don’t know how Sophie slept through it.” Nicola feels both a slight amazement and jealousy towards her daughter. 

 

“Must be someone else’s,” Mycroft jokes, before he explains, “Sherlock was exactly the same as Christopher and us when he was young. Couldn't sleep through anything.” Thinking back to when she’d heard all manner of bangs and violin music coming from 221B Nicola thinks that probably hadn’t changed all that much, before she eyes Mycroft kind-heartedly. She knows that Sherlock’s loss and more to the point all the wonderful family moments that he’s missed out on during the past two years still hurts Mycroft each and every day. He may not go directly to his brother’s grave and talk to it like she knows John sometimes does, but she’s sure he does something very similar in the privacy of his mind palace, telling his brother in amazement about the family he cannot believe he now has. She squeezes at his arm and brushes past him so that she can pour a glass of milk. 

 

They hear the doorbell ring at the exact same time as Christopher starts to come downstairs. 

 

“Christopher? Get that would you please?” Nicola calls, wondering who it can be just as she finishes off her glass of milk. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. 

 

They hear the door opening and their son making an odd sound, almost as if he’s swooning, before they hear a reassuring kind of grumbling tone that neither of them can place. Nicola and Mycroft exchange an anxious glance. Nicola abandons the prospect of putting the milk away and Mycroft turns the heat of the oven down. In harmony the pair of them walk either side of the kitchen island and Mycroft then takes the lead. Her hand close to his she follows after him. What they see makes them both stop dead at the entranceway. Christopher, who appears to have fainted, is being cradled and held off the floor by a man who wears familiar triangular pointed shoes, leather gloves, a long dark coat with the collar turned up and a blue scarf. Sherlock Holmes, the man who neither Nicola nor Mycroft have seen for close to two years, stares at them, eyes a little apologetic beneath his tousled hair, but mouth firm. Nicola lets out a shuddery breath now and pushes past Mycroft, standing just in front of him. When she looks back at him her husband’s face is pale, mouth ajar, eyes fixed on the sight in front of him as if there are a million ghosts in the house right at that moment and not just the one. 

 

“Forgive me,” Sherlock murmurs, and Nicola looks back at him. He pats Dash’s head once the dog comes padding downstairs. Dash is wagging his tail like a mad thing at seeing the sight of his friend again. “I did not mean to frighten him”-Sherlock indicates Christopher now-“But I need to have a word with you brother dear.” Sherlock’s blue-green eyes fall on Mycroft and Nicola does not know what to make of that expression. She thinks that she sees something rather fierce and harsh in his eyes and doesn’t know why that would be the case. What reason has he got to be angry with Mycroft for? If anything it should be the other way around. 

 

Mycroft startles back into life. “Yes, of course.” He brushes past Nicola gently and gestures that his brother should head for his study. 

 

Sherlock though says, “At 221B.”

 

Nicola can see it, just the slight way that, that one remark throws Mycroft off guard, his foot not quite touching at the ground quickly enough, before he recovers himself again. “Certainly.” He spins back around to Nicola, not revealing how much his heart is quickly thumping inside his chest, but she can see the slight fear that’s in his eyes nonetheless. “I’ll be heading out for a little while then. You’ll be all right with Christopher and Sophie?” Nicola, deciding to trust in him, nods and takes over the care of her son from Sherlock as Mycroft puts on his coat and the two men depart. The sight of Mycroft’s forgotten umbrella laying still in its holder by the door makes her feel uneasy. Where had his mind been to have missed that?

 

*

 

“I thought Sherlock was dead,” is the first thing that Christopher says when he rouses from where Nicola has stretched him out on the settee in the sitting room. Dash whines in agreement, as if he too would quite like answers. Nicola, now juggling Sophie on her hip bends down and touches Christopher on the forehead. The boy doesn’t feel too hot and he sits up, swinging his legs down onto the floor. Mycroft doesn’t much like him dirtying the furniture. 

 

“Believe me I'm just as confused as you are,” Nicola says, “Are you feeling any better?”

 

“A little,” Christopher admits, wanting to take Sophie from her, but also keep his mother’s attention too. Nicola hands his sister to him and sits down beside him, deciding to put the TV that’s above the mantelpiece on as a distraction. That doesn’t work though because not only are the channels announcing Sherlock’s dramatic return, but also that there’s been an explosion in Baker Street. Her heart nearly stops. Christopher lets out a shocked breath beside her and she switches the TV off again automatically. “That’s where Sherlock lives. Is that where Daddy went? Are they both going to be gone now?” His bottom lip trembles. 

 

Part of Nicola’s mind registers that this is the first time that Christopher’s called Mycroft that and then the situation hits her again. _Mycroft._ She half gets up from the settee, before she looks back at Christopher and Sophie. She wants to talk to them, but finds it a little difficult to. Resorting to text-to-speech, although that only seems to make Christopher all the more anxious, she puts, _‘I'm sure that everything will be fine.’_ Christopher looks at her worriedly. Her mind tells her that Sherlock has got out of worse things before, especially since he’d somehow managed to survive the fall from the roof of St. Barts hospital, but Mycroft’s not usually one to find himself in the middle of an explosion. _‘I'm going to try and ring him. If you could just hold onto Sophie for a moment?’_ Christopher nods jerkily and Nicola moves off to the kitchen. She tries to ring Mycroft several times and tries Sherlock and John too, just in case they should know something, but there’s no reply. She gets more and more frantic, pacing back and for, worriedly thinking of what she’ll tell Christopher on her return to the sitting room should she still not have heard anything from Mycroft. Finally her phone rings, vibrating in her hand and causing Nicola to jump and nearly yell out loud. 

 

 _“Nicola?”_ It’s Mycroft’s voice. Mycroft’s soothing voice. The one he does when it’s stormy outside. The one he’d done for her last night. Nicola’s heart calms. Her husband is still alive. “I'm taking it you’ve seen the news?” he goes on when Nicola only lets out a few raspy breaths in response. “But all of us are all right Nicola. Sherlock, John who came around too, and Mrs. Hudson. We all got out all right. I’ll be home soon okay? They’re just insisting on doing all these silly tests at the hospital, but like I have told them a thousand tines before”-Mycroft raises his voice now-“There is nothing wrong with me.” She lets out a bit of a watery laugh, tears spurting from her eyes. Thank God. He’s still her same husband. She just wants to hold him. Hold them all. “I’ll be home soon.”

 

She goes into the sitting room once she’s tucked her phone away and wiped the stray tears that have fallen from her face. “Everyone’s all right Christopher,” she finds herself blurting out as soon as she sees the sight of her tense boy holding his sister close. Dash, sensing that something good has happened, lets his tail thump against the floor. 

 

“Daddy’s all right?”

 

“Yes,” Nicola says in no more than a whisper, sitting down beside them, gently pulling Sophie back into her arms and holding Christopher close. “Daddy’s all right.” 

 

*

 

Christopher keeps an eye out for Mycroft coming home and when Nicola’s just putting Sophie back to bed that afternoon in her daughter’s violet and yellow bedroom she hears him cry, “Daddy’s coming! Mummy quick”- she startles, but smiles at him calling her that and gives one last look at her daughter again, before Christopher and she hurry downstairs, smiles upon their faces. 

 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Christopher flies at Mycroft full pelt as soon as he leaves the car, hair a little askew and suit a little frayed-the fabric on one shoulder is a particular mess-but otherwise, except from the fact that he looks a little pale, he’s all right. 

 

 _“Christopher,”_ Mycroft murmurs, looking surprised, but happy at what the boy has just called him. They let the car go on its way again and he hugs his son. 

 

Christopher presses the side of his head into Mycroft’s chest tight. “Daddy I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too.” Mycroft’s hand rubs at the boy’s back carefully, as if he’s checking that he’s still there. He glances across and his face softens all the more when he sees Nicola looking a little choked from seeing the sight of him still being able to show Christopher so much love and affection. “We better let me say hello to Mummy again or she’ll be cross.”

 

“She was really scared Daddy. She couldn't even talk.”

 

“I know.” Christopher and he extract themselves from one another and Mycroft, eyes fixed on Nicola and mind assessing his wife’s condition and the amount of stress and worry that he has just caused her, brings her to him with one hand as soon as he is in front of her. Her hands feel at his arms, checking that he’s solid just like Mycroft had done earlier with Christopher. They still and she lets out a soft breath of relief against his ear. “It’s all right my love I'm here,” he tells her, kissing her on the cheek. “And not going anywhere. I'm very sorry for what you’ve had to go through today.” She nods, still rather stunned by it all. 

 

*

 

When they’re in bed that night and the children are safe in their own Nicola rubs an absent-minded hand across the hair of Mycroft’s chest, doing soothing strokes, her head tucked in the nook between his head and shoulder, his arm firmly around her. They both gaze at the ceiling. 

 

“So Sherlock?” Nicola finally breaches. There hadn’t been much time earlier for a proper explanation what with them all basking in Mycroft’s safe return, dinner and then spending time with the children. Sophie’s blue eyes had peered at her father beneath her cloud of auburn hair and Nicola had thought that she didn't know how lucky she was to be seeing him again. Mycroft had informed her though that the explosion seemed to have been caused by a device that had been set to a timer and located in the 221B sitting room. She’d been alarmed by that, but perhaps since he’d had time to get used to the idea he’d been more casual. He’d said that no one had been in that room for a long time after all. Mrs. Hudson hadn’t found it in herself to clean that area and in any case she hadn’t known what to do with any of Sherlock’s bits and pieces properly after his apparent death. John had moved in with Mary and Mycroft hadn’t had the courage to go there and face Sherlock’s ghost. The place had been riddled with dust. Anyone could have snuck in there at any time. Luckily Sherlock had heard a very faint beeping sound as they’d been mid-conversation and though he hadn’t had time to find the off switch they’d had time to get out of there moments before the place had gone up, sending them flying from the front door to the pavement. 

 

“He didn't really say,” Mycroft knows now that Nicola’s asking how Sherlock can still be alive. Nicola thinks to herself that perhaps Sherlock hadn’t really had much of a chance to say anything considering everything that day and is just glad to have both him and her husband back. 

 

“Do you think that what happened today was a pre-caution just in case he was still alive? He’d been doing well with his cases after all. There are a lot of criminals who probably wouldn't mind him being dead.” Nicola’s voice is hushed. She doesn’t like to think that someone might deliberately want Sherlock gone, but she has to know more of her husband’s thoughts about the matter. 

 

Mycroft is silent for a moment, stroking at her hair and threading his fingers through it. “I'm not sure if that’s the reason,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. 

 

She tilts her head up, not feeling particularly reassured by that. “You did something strange today.”

 

 _“Oh?”_ Mycroft’s hand stops moving.

 

“You left your umbrella behind.” 

 

Knowing that she’s staring right at him now Mycroft keeps his face on neutral for all he’s worth. “Probably just the shock of my brother…” Nicola hums and nods, but she’s not convinced. 

 

She worries too when Mycroft seems pre-occupied during the next month. He blames it on work whenever she should ask him, but won’t go into it any more than that and picks and nibbles constantly at unhealthy food more than eating anything properly. He’s attentive to the children that’s true, in fact it’s almost as if he saves a huge portion of his energy for them and wants to take in every minute that he’s with them, but is quiet and solemn around her. When she finds out that he has to go on a work trip abroad to Italy she’s almost relieved, thinking that it will give her a break from trying to work out the Rubik cube that is her husband’s mind, but that first night she finds it difficult to sleep, tossing and turning in bed, before she eventually drifts off. 

 

When she wakes it’s to the sound of a gunshot. 

 

She sits upright, heart pounding and the echoing sound of it still ringing inside her ears, but for a moment she still wonders if she had just imagined it all. She hears movement again though and lurching out of bed her first thoughts are of Christopher and Sophie once she remembers that Mycroft’s gone. She draws on her fluffy white dressing gown quickly and heads out of her room and to Christopher’s, keeping close to the wall. She pushes the door ajar gently, eyes focusing through the dark on the bed where her son would usually be, but he’s not there. Feeling a drumbeat of fear she quickly turns around again, leaving the door ajar and hurries into Sophie’s room instead. 

 

 _“Mummy?”_

 

“Oh thank God Christopher,” she says when she steps inside to see her son. Chestnut hair wild he’s still in his red and white stripy pyjamas. He’s carrying a half-asleep Sophie in his arms. Her legs are somewhat dangling and her plump little stomach is protruding. 

 

Christopher’s bottom lip wobbles. “Mummy I heard something so I came here”-she’s about to reassure him that he hasn’t done anything wrong when he adds-“Dash came too, but he was scratching at the door when I closed it, so I”- he gestures now looking terribly anxious. 

 

In the faint light that’s peering through the partly open curtains Nicola can see, as she looks around, small scratch marks against the bottom of the door. Her heart surges with the thought of her oldest friend being in danger and she goes momentarily dizzy, before she looks back at her son, knowing, as he looks every inch her little soldier, that she has to get herself in order for him. ‘Stay here,’ she mouths. 

 

“Mummy I don’t want you to go.” Christopher looks frightened. 

 

“I have to,” she insists in a low tone, before she adds, “I won’t do anything silly I promise you, but I have to see what’s going on. I want you to stay here. Should Sophie start to cry or you hear someone approaching then I want you to put Sophie back into her cot and hide beneath the bed. I want you to do all that as quietly and as quickly as possible for me okay Christopher?” 

 

 _“But”-_ Christopher protests, looking down at Sophie. Nicola knows that he is willing to give up his life for his sister in that moment and feels so proud of him. 

 

Trying to get him to do what she wants though she says warningly, _“Christopher.”_ The boy nods now and her expression changes into that of love and pride at once. She pulls them both close to her for one moment and places a delicate kiss on top of their heads. “I love you,” she squeezes at her son’s shoulder, heart chirruping inside her chest at the sound of shifting movement coming from downstairs. She has to create further distance between whoever’s there and her children, before it’s too late. She has to go now. “Daddy loves you and we are both so very proud of you. Remember that for me.” Fearful Christopher nods. She gives his waist one last firm press, before she lets go of him again. She takes one last lingering look at them both, encouraging them to be strong in her mind, before she heads towards the door. 

 

Slipping out of it she steps lightly across the hallway, sticking to the shadows, and moves back into her bedroom. She’d been suspicious at first when Mycroft had told her that he wouldn't be taking his umbrella with him on his work trip. Then angry and shocked when he’d taken it apart and revealed the sword and gun hidden there. Something akin to what she’d felt when she’d discovered her father enjoyed hunting had run through her mind then and she’d been stunned that Mycroft had allowed such a thing so close to the children. Surely by allowing a weapon into the home that was how accidents were allowed to happen in the first place? But he’d explained that with the decisions he’s made in his job and his brother being who he is it was a necessary evil and that as of yet he hadn’t once had to use it. He’d told her that after the explosion in 221B however and especially where the children and her were concerned he wasn’t going to take any chances. He’d shown her how to use it and she’d watched as he’d tucked it beneath their bed the previous night, but now she takes it out from underneath there. Holding it aloft she finally moves downstairs. She barely has to go any further than that to see the light that’s blazing from the sitting room or the pool of blood that’s smeared just before it, leading inside the room with a bloody paw print. Feeling tearful and apprehensive of what she might see Nicola braces herself all the more and steps forwards. As she draws level with the entranceway the bloody paw prints get more and more frequent and begin to clumsily blur into one another, before they finally lead to the heaving body of her faithful companion Dash. Panting heavily he is still alive, but for how much longer Nicola cannot say. His eyes roll in the back of his head and the blood seems to be pooling down from his side. Her heart clenches and aches just from seeing him. He is not alone though. He lies at the feet of a tall, slim woman, clad in black combat gear. Her blue eyes look hauntingly familiar, but Nicola has never seen her before she knows. She has a cruel mouth and holds a rifle confidently in her hands. Her dark hair tied back and close to her head she looks slick and professional and though Nicola had perhaps somewhat stupidly been expecting to see a man-perhaps a hulking one like the one who had burgled her house when she’d been just sixteen-she is unnerved even more by this development. 

 

“Oh hello,” the woman smiles, _smiles_ and almost cackles for God’s sake. Nicola’s hackles go up at once. “I was expecting to see my brother perhaps pointing his umbrella at me, but it’s much more fun that _you’re_ here.” Nicola doesn’t get it at first, but then she realizes. _Mycroft._ Mycroft’s _sister?_ In all her time of knowing him he’d never mentioned such a thing. “You’re his wife, but you don’t know who I am.” Nicola wants to speak, but words fail her. Instead she just tightens the grip on the umbrella. “Yes. I left my other brother a nice ‘Welcome Home’ gift a while ago.” Nicola’s brain whirs. The _explosion!_ “You might have heard about it. It was pretty legendary.” The woman’s eyes twinkle. A sly smile slips onto her face. “So I thought it was about time I did something for Mycroft too.” Nicola wonders what she intends to do, but when Dash whines, as if sensing that she’s in trouble she looks at him. “So sorry.” The woman touches at Dash’s side with her foot now, pushing at him a little. Nicola’s fists clench. Her face is stern. “I really wasn’t expecting a dog and he came in all of a sudden. I suppose I should have realized. My brother’s got so sentimental over the years. Always been his downfall really. No surprise that he’s started letting in all sorts into his house. I'm Eurus Holmes, the youngest in the clan, but also the smartest and now _Nicola”-_ she says the name as if it disgusts her-“Time for me to have some fun with you I think. I wouldn't put up a fight either or I’ll just call little Christopher downstairs. Maybe he’ll bring the baby too. Now that _would_ be fun.” Nicola’s face darkens. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe it’s a dog.” Eurus steps across to her and strokes the side of her cheek with the rifle. A lot more calmly than she feels Nicola pushes it away with the point of the umbrella. “I heard it’s always the quiet ones that you’ve got to watch out for.” 

 

Nicola lets out a bit of a growl, as if to say _‘Damn right,’_ and then, stupidly abandoning the umbrella, she tussles with the woman, trying to force her back. The woman may be slim, but she’s toned and strong and she uses the rifle to keep Nicola at bay. All of a sudden they both hear a rumbling growl and hesitate. As Eurus momentarily lets go of her and looks over her shoulder Nicola can see that Dash is on his feet again, dripping blood everywhere. She’s never been scared of him before, but the sight of those bared, snarling teeth and the blood mixed into his fur frightens her. Trusting him though and taking the opportunity she lunges forwards and attempts to grab the rifle, whilst Eurus is distracted. If she can make the woman weaponless then that will be something she thinks, but Eurus’s senses have been honed beyond belief and warrior like she swings back around again just in time, catching Nicola across the side of the face with the rifle. Her hair comes free from its bindings. Nicola meanwhile drops down to the floor at once, letting out a yell that makes Christopher squeak in fright upstairs and Dash bark furiously, huffing and puffing at Eurus as he moves from side to side. Undeterred Eurus simply swaps the rifle for the umbrella, unscrews it enough for the gun to be revealed and cackles, before she takes another couple of shots at the dog. Dash dodges the first one, but the next cuts him off mid-bark. Whimpering Nicola knows that it’s all over for her best friend, but she looks up anyway, so winded that she can barely lift her head and completely helpless on her back. She feels afraid. 

 

Eurus steps over to her. She points the gun at Nicola whose chest heaves from exertion. Is she about to be the next to die from Mycroft’s own weapon? “You mean nothing to him. You’re just his pet, just like your own is dead. He didn't even tell you about me. He’s been keeping me hidden for years, along with his true self. That’s how little you mean to him. That’s how short a time he thought you’d be in his life for.” 

 

“I _married_ him,” Nicola forces out, sensing Eurus’s underlying fear and jealously, though she quickly clamps her mouth shut again as she remembers about her children upstairs. Dash is already gone. She can’t lose them too. 

 

 _“Pet!”_ Eurus snarls back now. She laughs at Nicola’s rabbit caught in the headlights expression and moves past her. “You’re nothing. I could kill you now as easily as I got rid of him,” she indicates Dash. Nicola’s head lands back against the floor and she’s about to attempt to get up for a moment because of the children, but then Eurus pads the other way instead, her light elfin like footsteps barely leaving any trace of her. Only the click of the door heralds her departure. 

 

Groaning and cursing her Nicola rolls around, hands becoming stained with blood as she crawls to Dash’s now broken, still form. Eurus had shot him right between the eyes, killing him instantly. Nicola weaves her hand through the fur of her now departed friend, staining her hands all the more. _“Dashie…Dashie…”_ Her mind is in shock now and cannot think of all the times they have been through right in that moment. “Good boy.” She heaves herself up off the floor.

 

Scrambling for the landline and half-checking the alarm system in the kitchen Nicola realizes that its been temporarily disabled. Eurus must have done it remotely, before she’d come there. Nicola re-sets it now. Her fingers half-make to dial Mycroft’s number then because even after all she has been told it is him who she most wants to talk to, but then she remembers that he’s abroad and hardly in a position where he’d be able to help them all quickly. She calls Sherlock instead. 

 

 _“Nicola?”_ the consulting detective sounds wide-awake and as if he’d been expecting something like this to happen. 

 

“Sh-Sherlock,” is all she can manage in between her teeth chattering. She brushes absent-mindedly at her bloodstained dressing gown. 

 

“Are you at home?

 

_“Mm.”_

 

“Then just stay there. I’ll be around with Lestrade shortly,” Sherlock is brisk. 

 

Nicola hangs up and goes immediately upstairs to check on the children. Sophie is back in her cot now, but Christopher looks wired and alert as he stands close to the door. His whole body trembles and for one hare-brained moment Nicola thinks he’s been pouring water on his face, before she realizes it’s his tears. 

 

 _“Mummy!”_ He hugs her. “I-I thought”-

 

“Shh, shh.” She strokes soothingly at his hair, arms and back. “It’s all right,” she soothes. 

 

“But Mummy you’re hurt.” He looks at the gash that’s on the side of her head and at her bloodstains anxiously. 

 

“It looks worse than it is,” she manages to get out. 

 

“W-Where’s Dash?” Christopher looks around worriedly for the dog that has always been at one of their sides, before he must see the change in his mother’s expression because his face crumples. “H-He’s gone?” She nods at him. He’ll have to know soon enough. “No, no, _nooo!”_ Christopher shakes his head wildly and she pushes his face into her stomach. He begins to sob. “Not Dash. Not Dash. I'm so sorry Mummy. I'm so sorry.” 

 

“Shh. Shh.” She cannot think too much of Dash in that moment. As cruel as it is she has to prioritize her children. “He died defending me,” she whispers hoarsely to Christopher softly, “Helping me, just as he always has.” She tries to stroke reassuringly at his hair, but tears start to fall from her own eyes. 

 

They hear a rattle at the front door and Christopher tenses against her. “Please don’t leave me again.”

 

“It will only be for a short while.” She crouches down in front of him. “It’s probably just Sherlock and Greg. I called them for help. Everything is going to be all right.” _‘Even if it’s not right now.’_ She does her best to rub at Christopher’s arms. 

 

“But Daddy”-

 

“Daddy doesn’t know what’s happened yet,” her voice hardens slightly. She hears Greg shouting her name. “He’s abroad Christopher. It’s not easy for him to get back to us straight away. You remember where he showed you on the map?” Christopher nods. Italy is quite far away, that’s what he remembers Daddy saying even though to Christopher it had just looked like two large, diagonal steps away. Nicola smiles bravely at him. “I won’t be long.” She touches at his hair. Christopher nods and she leaves him. 

 

On her way downstairs though her legs begin to tremble and she has to stop for a moment, but then Sherlock and Greg emerge from the sitting room, faces pale because of what they have just seen and stop to look up at her. Tears running down her face and gurgling slightly Nicola runs down the rest of the way and Sherlock holds her tightly in his arms for one moment, kissing at her hair, before he pulls away again. 

 

“The children?” 

 

“Safe upstairs.”

 

He lets out a visible sigh of relief. “Good.” He rubs at her arms. “I’ve rung Mycroft. He’s on his way back. I’ll go and meet him at the airport when it’s time.”

 

“Were there many of them?” Greg intervenes, looking alarmed by what’s happened, but focused. 

 

Slowly Nicola shakes her head. Her eyes go back to Sherlock. He looks as if he’s half-dreading the answer that she’s about to give, but their blue eyes lock together all the same. “Just the one. She said she was your sister.” Greg’s mouth opens in shock now, but Sherlock looks like he’d been expecting to hear such a thing. 

 

“We need to get you somewhere safe.”

 

“I'm staying here,” she informs the consulting detective. “I-I don’t want my children to see that,” she gestures to the sitting room, “But I'm staying here.” She doesn’t know where it comes from, but she does know that she’s not about to be driven out of this house too. This is her home. It’s where her children live and she’s not about to spend the upcoming day ferrying them from friend to friend. She’s staying. 

 

“I’ll get some other officers around to help with the clean up,” Greg says. “Forensics.” He’s seen this stubborn girl before. She’d demanded to know Dash’s name after the burglary when she was sixteen. “What do you want to do about-?” Greg breaks off awkwardly. 

 

“Perhaps you could clean him up too? Then-Then maybe someone could-could cremate him and we could have the ashes back?” She can barely talk and babbles more than anything else. “He still belongs here with us, but we don’t have the room to bury him.” Suddenly it hurts and she can feel it. Feel the loss of Dash in every pore of her body. The loss of her best friend and always most trusted companion for years now. Feel the comfort that she’d gotten just from him being stretched out at her feet fading away. She’d just been able to press a socked foot against his fur and known that he was always there for her. All the joy that they’d shared together! She falls into Greg’s arms. 

 

“Hey, hey, I know, I know,” the silver haired detective says mournfully now, holding her tight and feeling the loss of that wonderful German Shepherd himself. “I was there when you first met remember? Him following you about everywhere…” Tears drop into the crinkles by his eyes. 

 

“He was so good to me. He gave up his life for me. I don’t know”-

 

He cradles her head. “It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right.” He rocks her back and forth and kisses the top of her head twice. 

 

Once she’s a little calmer they send her up to be with the children. Sherlock comes to check on them all and brings Christopher and her a hot drink, whilst the police and forensics continue to work downstairs. Neither of them mention Eurus and they sit there in mostly silence, but finally when dawn is breaking and it’s not long until Mycroft’s flight is due in Sherlock releases the now numb arm that’s been around her for the longest of times and looks at her thoughtfully. “I better go,” he almost sounds as if he doesn’t want to leave. 

 

She nods. “Thanks for coming,” the words are said blankly, but she means them all the same. Christopher is cradled into her side. 

 

Sherlock gives them one last long gaze, taking in the mother and son on the bed, before he departs. 

 

*

 

At the airport things are not as simple as they should be. Mycroft and Sherlock have barely found each other-Mycroft looking breathless and pale as he asks for more details of Nicola and the children. On the phone Sherlock had only said that something had happened and Nicola had called-before a man is interrupting and steering them both towards a helicopter. Mycroft and Sherlock exchange a terse look, but go with him. 

 

* 

 

Nicola is thinking and trying to piece things together with her fragile mind, but frequently hitting more questions than answers. Christopher has left her side now and is staring out through his bedroom window, once more waiting for his Daddy to return. 

 

He looks around at her and says, “Mummy the phone’s ringing.” He points to where her mobile phone is beside her on the bed. 

 

“Let it.” She knows that it’s not either Mycroft or Sherlock. The number sounds vaguely familiar to her, but she’s in no mood to answer it. 

 

“It’s the children’s home,” Christopher says suddenly and she looks at him. “I know it is because I used to hear them give the number out and whenever anyone had taken my things I had to go to the office and it was pinned up there. The paper was pink.” He remembers. 

 

Nicola stares at her son for a moment now, but when the phone rings once again she answers it. “H-Hello?”

 

“Hi Nicola, it’s Bobby from the children’s home, how are things?” A pleasant female voice says brightly and Nicola can almost imagine her at the desk, brown hair loose, a packet of snacks close by, but she doesn’t know how to respond. Her mind feels blank suddenly, _stupid,_ as if she can’t even wade through the thoughts she’s already had. “Oh sorry, have I caught you at a bad time?” The woman knows about Nicola’s condition and how it can make her clam up during times of pressure. 

 

“Um n-no, not exactly,” Nicola manages. 

 

“It’s about Christopher’s birth mother Karen,” Bobby is cautious now, “The thing is someone at the shelter discovered her there late last night”-

 

 _“Oh.”_ Nicola almost senses what’s coming now and she glances at Christopher. Surely this can’t be happening today too? 

 

“I'm afraid she had passed away.” Nicola’s world tumbles even further. “It looked-well it looked like an overdose, but they’re doing a post-mortem. I just thought I should let you know. If you need any help in telling Christopher”-

 

 _“No,”_ Nicola interrupts, suddenly protective, “That-That won’t be necessary thank you.” 

 

“Okay then. Well, I'm very sorry to have to be the one to break the news.” 

 

“Thanks.” Nicola disconnects the call. Christopher looks at her apprehensively. 

 

When she won’t look at him for a moment as she considers how best to break the news he asks, “Are they taking me back? Because-Because I let Dash go last night?”

 

Nicola looks at him at once, her mind suddenly going back to the way he’d apologized that morning. She’d thought he meant that he was sorry that Dash had died, not that _he_ was taking responsibility for it. She hadn’t ever wanted him to think that and gestures that he should come and sit beside her now. He does so. “No sweetheart,” she says in a low tone, putting an arm around him. His clothes crinkle as he nestles into her. “No. Don’t ever think that what happened last night is your fault okay?” He looks at her imploringly. She swallows a couple of times. “You know what Dash was like.” She sniffs. “If you hadn’t of let him go then he probably would have made this massive racket and that would have led the horrible woman straight to you. You did the right thing.” It still doesn’t make sense to her that Eurus is the sister of the man she loves and who has treated her so dearly. She feels a prickle of something now and shakes it off. She can’t let herself get lost in all of that. She can think about it later. Even better then that she can discuss it with _Mycroft_ later, but for now-“No, they broke some bad news to me.”

 

“Is it about my other Mummy?” Christopher says, voice small and Nicola feels a fondness for him being able to accept that he’s got three parents who he thinks of prominently in his mind rather than the usual two. 

 

She forces out, “It was yes sweetheart. I'm afraid-I'm afraid that she’s passed away. It looks like she died in her sleep.” 

 

Christopher nods solemnly, taking all of that in. “Maybe she was having nice dreams and she never wanted to come out of them? I know I don’t when that happens,” he says. 

 

“Oh I hope so my love.” She feels grateful for his explanation and holds her to him even more now. Christopher begins to cry. She rubs soothing patterns into his back, whilst he sniffles. 

 

*

 

Overwhelmed once they’d got trapped in Sherrinford and already with the governor dead Sherlock, Mycroft and John find themselves in Eurus’s old cell, stuck there, whilst they look at her on a screen. 

 

“Oh I do miss our ancestral home with all its honey and creepy tombstones. I know you used to like it there too Mycroft. Why don’t we properly start our time here with some home video that you’re equally sure to like?” Eurus loves every second of this. She presses a button and instead of her they see the CCTV footage of Eurus and Nicola’s confrontation that morning. Mycroft’s eyes go wide and horrified, his mouth opens and his heart begs for his sister’s mercy. “Now you know how it feels like to have the control over your life taken from you,” Eurus says over what they’re watching. Mycroft’s heart very nearly stops altogether when he sees the two women scuffling. When Dash is killed he simply cannot look at the screen any more. He ducks his head and a flickering of pain and guilt clouds over his eyes, whilst his heart twists in torment as he hears his wife talking to the dog softly. “This next bit is a stretch boring,” Eurus says and Mycroft feels a flash of hot anger now. How dare she do this! Who does she think she is? Labelling the people he loves as boring when he finds every part of them interesting. He jerks his head upward to see that Eurus is now watching him directly and his expression turns grim. His sister looks amused. A smile toys about her mouth. “Why don’t we fast forward?” The footage speeds up until it stops on the moment where Sherlock and Lestrade had arrived. Mycroft hunches into himself once more when he hears Nicola sobbing and Sherlock eyes him worriedly. But that is only the beginning of their problems. Eurus pretends that she has rigged the flat of Molly Hooper and that they only have minutes to save her. She is forced to tell Sherlock that she loves him, so that they can save her, only to be told just moments later that she was never in any danger at all. This angers Sherlock, but Eurus moves things along too quickly for him to react with any more than a brooding silence and bubbling anger, for she toys with the idea of making either Sherlock or Mycroft get rid of John. Changeable though she desists in that path after a short time and says, “Let us check in with Nicola and Christopher now. Maybe they’ll be able to reveal something interesting to us,” and Mycroft’s nightmare only continues. 

 

Nicola and Christopher are in the kitchen. Post-lunch and with the house far more clean than it had been first thing that morning it is just them again and whilst Nicola drinks some juice at the kitchen island, her mind thoughtful, Christopher is on his feet and looking around once more, with not even Dash to distract him. 

 

“Shouldn't Daddy be back by now?” Christopher asks. 

 

“Aw, he misses you,” Eurus speaks over the footage and Mycroft’s heart, which had lifted in both fondness and fear at the sight of his wife and son looking far more normal than they had done before, wobbles angrily at the sound of his sister’s words, before it stills altogether when she adds, “Such a shame his real mother is no longer with us.” Mycroft’s mouth opens. “They were only informed today. Pity I didn't get a chance to put cameras upstairs. I would have liked to have seen their reaction to it.” Mycroft stares at Nicola and Christopher. “They really shouldn't have gone through all that without you.”

 

 _‘No they shouldn't,’_ is what Mycroft thinks now, as he watches Nicola toy with her glass of juice. 

 

Finally she looks at her son. “It’s a long way like I said Christopher.” She looks thoughtful for a moment and then her face changes to become something sadder instead. “Maybe something came up with work and he had to sort that out first?”

 

“Look at that,” Eurus says with relish as Mycroft’s heart tumbles, “She doubts you.”

 

“Stop it,” Mycroft says angrily, before he can help himself. Sherlock and John both look at him calculatingly. 

 

“What’s that?” Eurus looks delighted, fingers dancing upon her jaw. 

 

“I said stop it.” Mycroft darts across and picks up the gun from the governor’s body. He spins back around again and holds the weapon towards the screen. It is cold, heavy and unfamiliar to him. He has to adjust his hold on it. His heart is racing. 

 

Eurus cackles in delight. “Are you going to kill me big brother?” Her voice is high and manic, before it goes very soft as she adds, “Go on then.” Mycroft’s jaw clenches. He can see Sherlock looking tense and even a bit afraid out of the corner of his eye, see John’s mouth opening and the man about to tell him to stop all of this, but when Eurus presses another button and appears in front of him, long dark hair flowing, hospital gown back on and head tilted playfully all he can focus on is her. “I'm here. I’ve ruined your life haven’t I? I took away what was left of your childhood. I didn't just steal Mummy and Father from you like Sherlock did. I wasn’t just someone they had because you weren’t good enough.” The weapon in Mycroft’s hand shakes. 

 

 _“Mycroft,”_ John calls out warningly at last, but Mycroft ignores him. 

 

“I was someone who did something so terrible and so much worse than setting our ancestral home on fire that when Sherlock did what he did to cope with it all”-Sherlock looks between his siblings now-“You were one of the few to know. You had to take on so much great responsibility didn't you?” Again the weapon shakes. “Mummy and Daddy used you, despite their lack of love, told you to keep an eye on your younger brother and look out if he should remember anything. You took your role so seriously. A little _too_ seriously if I may say so. It even hindered the social life you could have had, but somehow you still managed to find them.” Eurus indicates where Nicola and Christopher are still on the screen now. The volume down low they can no longer hear what they’re saying, but Mycroft doesn’t look at them to try and work it out either. “Or maybe they managed to find you.” Mycroft thinks that, that’s about right. “Yet I have the nerve to walk out of here and still mess things up for you. I was so close to killing them all last night Mycroft. Nicola was helpless on the floor, that foul dog was dead and a quick trip upstairs was all it would have taken for me to quash the hearts of your children too.” Mycroft pulls the trigger back. No one threatens his children. Sweat drips down his brow. His teeth are clenched, but his blue eyes are clear and alert. He steadies his gun arm with the other. “So go on,” Eurus urges. 

 

“Mycroft no,” Sherlock mutters and just like its always done the voice of his younger brother manages to reach Mycroft’s ears. He hesitates, cocks his head and shows that he’s willing to listen. “It’s just a hologram,” Sherlock says desperately and Mycroft turns his head to look at him fully. “She’s not really there.” Sherlock gestures at Eurus. “And if you let go of that now then it will hit the wall and have every chance of obliterating one of us. You’re doing exactly what she wants. Listen to me.” Mycroft grunts, but his hand is sweaty. He can’t last very much longer and his finger is already straining to keep the trigger back. He can’t see how he can avoid doing what Sherlock has said in any case. “Think Mycroft. Think about the trajectory. You have to change where you’re pointing it.” Mycroft does not want to. If his brother is wrong and Eurus is really there-he’s so tempted. More tempted than he’s ever been to shoot anyone in his whole entire life. _“Look at them!”_ Sherlock’s voice finally shatters Mycroft’s thoughts. He gestures at Nicola and Christopher and finally Mycroft looks at them. His wife and son are hugging each other and being so terribly brave. They did not deserve what Eurus had done to them. “Eurus is right,” Sherlock goes on and Mycroft’s finger very nearly slips. Catching it Sherlock continues, “You might have had to wait a long time, but you’ve got everything you want. Why would you throw that away by risking your own death? You’ve got it Mycroft. You’ve had your revenge by finding a family who love you anyway. You don’t need to do anything more than that.” But Mycroft’s finger slips and as he releases the trigger he closes his eyes. 

 

*

 

It’s Sherlock and Greg who Nicola next sees. Not Mycroft. Opening the front door to them she looks at them in confusion for a moment, taking in the inky night sky and how the trees move behind them. Now almost bare of their leaves they creak and shudder ominously. Nicola swallows. Looking back at Sherlock she sees that he looks weary and tired, though a spark of relief lights up his eyes upon seeing her. 

 

 _“Nicola…”_

 

“Where is he?” Once more Nicola only has room for Mycroft. 

 

“He’s”-this time it’s Greg who speaks-“He’s had a rough day of it.” Something inside Nicola tenses. “Well, we all have. You included. But we’re all still alive and he’ll be back home again soon. We just wanted to make sure you were all right first.”

 

“But where is he?” Nicola ignores his last statement. “Why isn’t he at home already?” she asks. 

 

“Something came up,” Greg is terse and Sherlock winces a little at his choice of phrase. But then the silver-haired detective was not there in Sherrinford, _nor_ for what had followed after. 

 

Nicola flinches and avoids their eyes immediately. _“Oh,”_ she says. 

 

“Not something that was”- is all that Sherlock can start off with, before she closes the door in his face. 

 

“Was that Daddy?” Christopher is at the top of the stairs now despite the fact that she’d put him to bed half-an-hour ago. 

 

“No and you need to go back to bed.”

 

“But I'm not tired.”

 

“Well I _am._ Daddy will be home soon and I'm sure he’ll come to see you, but you need to be good for me now.”

 

They face off for one moment, just staring at one another. Christopher lets out a big sigh and turns around, stomping up the rest of the stairs. With a huff of breath herself Nicola follows him and gets him settled again, even reading him a quick story for good measure, though her heart’s not really in it and Christopher stares at her in a still fashion that reminds her terribly of Mycroft. Then she returns downstairs, makes another cup of tea in the endless chain of liquids that she seems to be pouring down her throat that day and waits, taking up one of the armchairs in the sitting room. The low light of the room doesn’t do much to fend off the darkness and the noise from the wind outside makes her shudder, so she goes across to pull the blue curtain shut more tightly. Returning to her armchair Nicola finds herself wading through all the thoughts that she has tried to run from that day. She sees Dash’s body just as she hears the click of the door as the key is inserted into it. Finally Mycroft has arrived home. He comes forward a touch, so that he can be seen through the entrance of the sitting room. To him it is odd after the video he has seen and all the horror he has experienced that day how normal everything looks. The bloodstains from earlier are gone. In fact the only change is on his wife’s face. She is stern. Defensive. It is the face that Harry had told him about all those years ago in the hospital and makes his own expression grow tense, but that changes a moment later too when he hears a shout. 

 

 _“Daddy!”_ Christopher is at the top of the stairs again and he comes running down them now, throwing himself into his father’s arms. 

 

 _“Christopher,”_ Mycroft murmurs gratefully, hand absent-mindedly making its way across the top of his son’s head. “You’re all right?” The boy nods, the awfulness of the previous night almost forgotten at the joy he feels from having Mycroft back. 

 

But then it re-surfaces again and he whimpers, “It was so scary Daddy,” bottom-lip trembling. 

 

Before Mycroft can comfort his son however Nicola appears at the sitting room entranceway. “You’re supposed to be in bed Christopher.” Mycroft looks at her, but her eyes are fixed on their son. 

 

“But _Daddy…”_ Christopher cannot understand why Nicola is behaving in this way, nor why she seems so indifferent to Mycroft’s return, not when they've been waiting for him all day. It makes no sense. 

 

“Is very tired and needs to rest I'm sure after having such a busy day,” there’s an edge to her tone. She steers their son upstairs. Christopher looks back and Mycroft just offers him a small, helpless little shrug in return indicating that he should go along with Nicola and they will talk more in the morning. 

 

Once more Nicola gets Christopher settled again, before she leaves his room. She lingers by his door for a moment, not particularly wanting to go down and have the talk she knows that she needs to with Mycroft. She doesn’t know where it’s going to lead her after all. She forces herself downstairs. 

 

Mycroft is in the sitting room. He has his back turned to her when she enters and is busy pouring them both a glass of scotch diluted with water. 

 

“Can I just ask you something?” At the sound of her soft voice, which she drags out of her, he turns back to her. She pushes herself off from where she’s been clinging a little to the frame. “I’ve been trying to hold everything in, to believe and trust in you, in what we have.”

 

Mycroft senses a _‘but,’_ and nods, taking the two glasses to the side-table, before he looks at her again. “Of course,” he murmurs, gesturing now that she should take a seat. 

 

She does not do so. Instead she eyes him rather fiercely; hands folding and unfolding a couple of times. “Did you know that something like this might happen?” A muscle leaps in Mycroft’s jaw now. “Because there was a moment earlier with Sherlock after the burglary where he didn't seem that surprised that something had happened, so was there even a work trip?”

 

“No, there was no work trip.” Mycroft is tired. Something in Nicola’s body sags, “But I had to go to Italy in order to”-

 

“Keep up the pretence?” Nicola’s anger overtakes her fear and her voice grows more deadly.

 

Mycroft flinches at the sound of her, before he nods. “But I tried-I tried to keep you safe. You have to believe me.” She folds her arms, a steely expression on her face. It seems to make the shadows grow upon her. “I gave you the umbrella and there were people watching the house”-

 

 _“People?”_ she’s incredulous. 

 

“Security. They were meant to detain Eurus, before she even had a chance to gain access to the house. She must have darted them. Did the police not mention anything about finding anyone at all?” Mycroft is hopeful until Nicola shakes her head. “She must have hidden them well then.” As she looks at Mycroft now she wonders if there was even security there in the first place. She’s never doubted her husband so strongly before. She feels a flash of anger. 

 

“You used us as bait? We’re your family Mycroft.” Her voice is choked. She almost hears Eurus in her head saying, _‘I'm his family too. Look what he did to me.’_ Cricking her neck she shakes it off. She cannot let Eurus invade her head. “Your children-the boy who you faced your fear of fire for, the girl who was the most wonderful accident-they are lucky to be upstairs breathing right now because they could have died. Dash _did_ die! And you know how? Eurus used your own weapon against us! It was your bullet that killed him! I need to know how you could ever have allowed that to happen! I need to know who my husband really is!” 

 

“I _know.”_ Mycroft gestures placatingly with his hands for her to calm down. He looks broken. “And I am so, so sorry that you had to go through all of that. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, _but”-_

 

 _‘But what?’_ Nicola finds that she has to use text-to-speech. 

 

“If you just let me try and explain, before you leave me. Sherlock and John”-

 

 _‘Don’t blame them.’_

 

“All right,” he relents, “This is _my_ fault, but they made me feel that it was the only way she could properly be re-captured again and in which we could learn what she wanted. I never meant”-

 

 _“Re-captured?”_ Nicola’s voice is high and mocking. He has never faced her so cold before. “You make her sound like an animal.”

 

“A long time ago I would have agreed with you.” Mycroft can barely look at her; his toe rubs into the floor. “But since _Dash”-_ Nicola is horrified that he can say the dog’s name. He sees it and his face goes all the whiter. Is it as he fears? Can there really be no re-conciliation between them? Has Eurus truly torn everything he holds dear apart? Before he can get such answers a baby’s cry breaks through the silence. _Sophie._ Nicola’s body jerks forwards a little, reacting at once. “I can”- Mycroft says now, indicating towards the ceiling and acting as if Nicola would be better off sitting down and calming herself. But Nicola’s not about to listen to his advice now. 

 

“No,” she says firmly. Mycroft swallows and nods. She sweeps out of the room. 

 

 _‘Sophie would wake now,’_ is what Nicola thinks as she heads upstairs, _‘As if she’s got a detector for whenever there’s friction between Mycroft and me.’_ Still her footsteps soften as she approaches the door and she becomes more gentle again. Her daughter is looking her way, red faced and bawling, angry blue eyes stained with tears. 

 

“Shh. Shh.” Nicola picks her up. “Mummy’s got you.” She bounces her daughter on her hip and paces around the room, cradling the young girl’s head, but Sophie is still uncomfortable and gurgling. When she hits Nicola’s arm with her small, chubby hand Nicola draws back from her a little and jumps. Sophie’s eyes are glassy like Eurus’s in that moment and she hurries to put the young girl down. As soon as Sophie’s bottom touches the cot she starts howling and Nicola feels incredibly guilty about what she’s just done. Sophie is not Eurus. Sophie would _never_ do anything so terrible. She picks up her daughter and tries again. “Mummy’s sorry. Mummy’s sorry. That was bad of me wasn’t it?” She pats at her daughter’s back with the tips of her fingers. “I should never have done that. Baby I'm sorry.” The door opens once more with a creak behind them and as light floods in Nicola whirls around to see a very apprehensive looking Mycroft stood there. “I thought I told you to stay downstairs?” 

 

Mycroft looks between them, frowning a little at the state that Sophie’s in. Nicola just holds her daughter closer to her chest, scowling at her husband. “Let me hold her,” Mycroft begs, stretching a hand out towards them even at that distance. “Please let me make everything better,” he urges Nicola, “I want us to be a family again.” 

 

That gets Nicola rabid. “Be quiet,” she hisses like an angry goose, flicking a quick hand at him, “Do you want Christopher hearing that and getting all sorts of ideas into his head?” She turns around and bounces Sophie a couple more times on her hip, before, and hoping for the best, she places her daughter back inside her cot again. Sophie seems calmer this time and so Nicola retreats, gripping a handful of Mycroft’s shirt, which makes him flinch and protest. She begins to push him out of the room, _but-_

 

“What’s going on? Is Sophie all right?” A sleepy looking Christopher, one hand rubbing at his eye, hair all sticking up and body clad in his stripy pyjamas joins them. 

 

“She’s fine,” Nicola is short with him now. She gestures that her son should go back to bed. 

 

Christopher looks at Mycroft for help. “You best do what your mother wants,” is all that Mycroft will say wearily. 

 

Christopher looks between them worriedly. “You’re not fighting are you?”

 

“No.” Feeling softer Nicola forces a smile onto her face and ushers him back into his bedroom. She doesn’t linger long this time though and Mycroft glances at where Christopher used to be and back at Sophie’s cot longingly, before he too leaves the room. Letting the door stay ajar, so that they will hear if Sophie should cry again he follows his wife downstairs. “That boy needs us.” Nicola paces in the sitting room. 

 

“They both do,” Mycroft says and Nicola is struck dumb for one moment, stopping her striding as she remembers what her father had said all that time ago. That _both_ Christopher and Mycroft needed her. She turns towards her husband, who’s looking hopeful that he might have actually somehow done something right and observes the way that he half-smiles at her, before his face crumples once more into a state of worry and despair. 

 

 _“Explain,”_ she says and Mycroft opens his mouth, but once more she gets there first, “Explain how it is that Sherlock could be here ages ago, Greg too and you couldn't? Shouldn't you have been straight home?”

 

“Would you believe it if I said that I went for a walk to try and work out what I could possibly say when I came here to stop you from leaving me?” Mycroft smiles weakly. The unfortunate thing is that she _can_ believe that. It’s her husband’s personality all over to worry and over think things, but her expression remains unmoved. Mycroft sighs. “I’ll tell you from the beginning then.” They finally sit down opposite one another in the armchairs and Nicola waits. “I told you about the fire?” he checks to see if she remembers, knowing that it cannot have been on her mind as much these past few years as it has been on his. Nicola nods. “But I did not tell you that it was my sister who caused it?” Mycroft looks at her levelly. 

 

“You didn't even tell me you had a sister.”

 

Mycroft nods. “And for good reason too,” he sighs. He stretches for his glass of scotch and sips at it, before he replaces it again. Nicola doesn’t know what to think. “She was five when she set fire to Musgrave, our ancestral home and had shown plenty of worrying behaviour before then.” Nicola’s eyebrows go up and Mycroft knows that she is waiting for an example. “She got jealous when Sherlock had a best friend”-

 

“I sensed the same thing coming off her about us.”

 

Mycroft nods, not surprised. “And so she killed him.” He grimaces now. Nicola’s mouth drops open, before her face tightens again. That could have been her or even worse Christopher or Sophie. “Naturally when it was discovered my parents and I were horrified. Sherlock took on his own version of events. His best friend became a dog”-

 

“Like _mine?”_ Nicola raises an eyebrow at him. 

 

Mycroft winces. “Uncle Rudy was staying with us at the time and encouraged us to let him handle it all. My parents needed all the support they could get and so they agreed. Eurus would be sent elsewhere to be looked after in a more secure environment. Uncle Rudy thought it best, after a time to let my parents believe that Eurus had perished in another fire. He told me the truth when I started to suspect that something wasn’t right”-Nicola senses that this is where Mycroft’s caution with curiosity now comes from-“And I-much to my regret now,” here he looks at Nicola pleadingly, “Kept up the charade.” 

 

“Where was Eurus residing?” Nicola asks him. 

 

“At Sherrinford. The place where Sherlock, John and I were taken today,” Mycroft tells her, “But there is more that I need to tell you first. You remember that just after my brother had apparently fallen to his death John came around to see me?” Nicola nods now. It’s not possible for her to have forgotten that day. “It transpired that just before Sherlock fell John discovered that his therapist was not in fact who she said she was.” Nicola’s beginning to see where this is going now. Sure enough Mycroft says, “She was in fact Eurus in disguise. My little sister had been escaping her confines for what I suspect was months before that point. John went to tell Sherlock just as she knew he would and Sherlock pretended to fall to his death, so that he could investigate our family in a less obvious manner. Had I been in any state to pay attention and if I had not been so convinced by it all then I might have noticed the signs. A missing document here, a case being solved there because of course my brother could not resist doing what he always had during his time away, but by the time I was more myself again, and I owe you a great amount of credit for that,” he says now, “I was suitably distracted with the children and you.”

 

“Well I'm sorry for causing you such trouble then,” Nicola snipes. Mycroft waves an impatient hand. “I guess that explains what you meant by it being your fault when John came to see you. You thought that your brother had gotten all his memories back and hadn’t been able to cope with what you’d been hiding from him for all these years.” Mycroft looks at her as if to say, _‘Will you?’_ “So today-?” Nicola dismisses her husband’s gaze. 

 

“Today a man intercepted Sherlock and I at the airport.” He tells her how another had brought John along from his home and taken them all to Sherrinford. He tells her how Eurus had trapped them all inside her cell. How the governor had died and what Eurus had done to Molly. How he’d been made to watch the footage from the burglary. How terrible he’d felt about it all. Nicola’s eye and fingers twitch, the latter doing so, before they curl up again on the glass of scotch that she’s now holding to her chin. He says that John Watson’s life had been threatened. Then grows quiet. 

 

_“Mycroft?”_

 

He swallows. It is a miracle that she has been sat patiently in front of him for this long. That she hadn’t kicked him out of the house as soon as he’d returned for having an indirect role in Dash’s death. He cannot imagine how she will respond when he should tell her about Christopher’s mother and how he himself very nearly became a killer for them all. His shaking hand rakes through his hair. He would have done it he knows. If that hologram of Eurus had been real then he would have killed her. He looks up again. “Eurus showed us the current footage of Christopher and you.” Nicola meets his gaze. She looks even paler than she normally does. “You were in the kitchen. She explained that she was responsible for the death of Christopher’s mother.”

 

Nicola is silent for a long moment. “With everything you’ve been telling me I was beginning to wonder. The timing of it seemed like one hell of a coincidence.”

 

“I don’t believe in them,” Mycroft says now. In that moment Nicola doesn’t know if she does either. “I felt so angry Nicola,” Mycroft says and Nicola has never heard him talk like this before. “She told me how close she came to killing you all this morning. I-I had the gun. There was a hologram of Eurus in front of me and if it had really been her then I would have-I would have-but you _know_ I'm not that person!” He’s beyond himself now and finally Nicola finds herself placing the drink down and getting up from her chair. She goes across to him and rubs at his arm as she crouches in front of him, concern in her eyes. “I would never,” he pulls back from her and her hands slide to his shoulders, “Harm a hair on your head or the children’s and I'm so sorry about Dash. I know I let a monster into the house, but I never meant to use you as bait. For a moment I would have quite happily killed my sister. I would have killed h-h-her.”

 

She holds his head to her chest for a long moment now, before she releases him again. “For what she put you through?” She passes him his glass of scotch and he sups at it gratefully. He nods. She puts the glass back when he passes it to her and looks him in the eye. “I might have done the same thing myself this morning truth be told. For the threat that she posed to the children. For what she did to Dash. Even when she told me who she was. I just wanted her to leave. I didn't much care how I got her out of there. What you’ve just told me doesn’t make you a bad person, especially after what she’s put you through, but perhaps it means you’re a little different from how you imagined yourself to be and that will take you a while to get through? The fact that your perception of yourself is skewed?” Mycroft nods. “But maybe I have the same problem too.” He looks suddenly hopeful. He grasps at her hand. She pulls it away again. “What happened next?”

 

Looking more worried Mycroft says, “When the gun went off I thought it might hit me.” Nicola frowns now. “I thought that since I’d probably lost the children and you and lost the little respect that Sherlock had left for me that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. I was _scared_ though”-

 

“Shh.” She touches momentarily at his face, before jerking her fingers back again. 

 

He looks foolishly hopeful. “It didn't hit any of us, but a moment later we were darted. When I awoke it was to discover that I was alone in Eurus’s cell, well aside from the governor’s body of course.” He looks distinctly uncomfortable now. “I was in there a couple of hours, maybe more, before the police finally came. All sorts of thoughts were running through my head about you, the children, Sherlock, but perhaps that’s nothing more than what I deserved. I kept Eurus shut away and could not adequately deal with her needs. When Sherlock was going through cold turkey I locked him away too. I guess that is what I do.” He looks remorseful. “Lock people away, shut things out.” He swallows. “Eurus had taken Sherlock and John to our old ancestral home. There the truth about Sherlock’s best friend was finally revealed to him and”-

 

“And _what?”_ Nicola asks when Mycroft hesitates. 

 

“He nearly lost John too. Eurus had trapped him in the well just like she’d done with his other best friend, before Sherlock finally got through to her and did what I could not. Maybe if I had told someone what was going on before now then things wouldn't have ended up this way?” Nicola wishes that he’d told _her._ “I knew, probably deep down all along that I shouldn't go along with Uncle Rudy’s plans, but he was different from a lot of the government men, creative and he”-

 

“He left an impression on your young self? Made you think that what he was doing must be right if he was the one doing it?”

 

“I suppose.” Mycroft gives her a little shrug. 

 

“It was just easier that way?” Nicola sighs. 

 

Mycroft nods. “I did start to think all the more when I met Christopher and you. That what I was doing wasn’t right. That perhaps there were _other_ ways of going about it. I could see that it wouldn't be right to do what I’d done to Eurus in Christopher’s case. It would have made him worse. He’d lashed out because he was scared. I have to admit though that until today I didn't quite realize that Eurus was doing so because of the same reason. Again Sherlock bested me there. I saw that like Christopher and you Eurus can’t cope with the world in the ways expected of her, but instead I just let things continue. None of what happened today would have occurred without my role in it. It might as well have been my hand on the gun that killed Dash.”

 

“He was my best friend…”

 

“Sweetheart I know.” He cups at her cheek desperately with his hand, before he slowly withdraws it. He straightens himself up and braces himself. “I’ll probably end up having even more of a minor position now. I doubt that they’re going to trust me in the same way and I’ll understand if you don’t either and if you don’t want to be with me any more. I only ask that you give me access to the children.”

 

“I can’t make a decision like that right now. Not tonight.” She stands and looks at him again, stepping back. “She killed my best friend. She threatened the safety of our children. John could easily have died. Maybe even Sherlock and you too. She terrified me and used your own weapon against Dash and v-very nearly against me. Instead of being honest with me about what had happened and the threat she posed you kept it a secret. I can deal with things when I know what it is that I'm facing, what I have to get through. You know that I can.” Mycroft nods now. She has proved that her whole life. “But you let me deal with this alone. I'm not sure how I feel about that.” She leaves the room. 

 

When darkness fades and morning comes Mycroft is still sitting there in that same spot.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from events Nicola makes a decision.

It is a week later and a crisp morning towards the end of November. 

 

When Nicola wakes it is not to the padding of Dash’s footsteps or even to him nudging at her, but silence. She sighs. It is going to take a long time for her to get used to his absence. She has decided something though and she reaches a hand out to where she knows her husband is awake now. He’d been gazing up at the ceiling, watching the pale light play across it and illuminate the specks of dust, but he glances at her. “I don’t want to be angry with you any more.” He lets out a breath and rolls onto his side, looking at her imploringly and she knows that, that hope is there again. Their fingers curl around each other’s. “I’ve been trying not to be, especially in front of the children because I can tell that they sense it, but sometimes”-

 

“You’re reminded of just how much I’ve hurt you?” 

 

“Yes, and I know that you didn't mean it. Not really.” She clears her throat now, trying to get all her points across to him. “I know you were only young and that by the time you were older and had started to become more assured in your convictions that none of it was right it was easier not to change things and rock the boat if you could help it. I know this week has been far from easy for you. That you’ve had your mother on your case and it wasn’t easy watching Sherlock play the violin to Eurus and be able to do the right thing when you’ve been struggling to do so for all these years and you didn't know what I was going to do either. But I just needed some space and time because this is all new to me Mycroft.” She looks at him now to make sure that he’s getting this fact. “You’ve had years, but this just feels like its come out of nowhere for me and I needed to think. Not because I believe you’re a bad man, which I don’t by the way, but so that I knew I was making the right decision when it came down to it. Not just for me, but for the children’s sakes.”

 

“And you think that staying with me might be the right decision?” Mycroft is cautious now. At work he’s been given a more minor role as he’d suspected that he would be and he finds it hard to believe that Nicola has any faith left in him. 

 

She turns onto her side and faces him properly. Her fingers slide down his until the tips of them come to be together. “I know that we've all got our problems. My mother’s a bigot. I'm mentally challenged myself”-

 

“Don’t call yourself that.” Mycroft frowns. 

 

“No, but I am.” She squeezes at his hand. “Christopher’s had his own problems and though he took the news of his mother’s death relatively well he’s going to need our help to get him through it. He’s probably only as calm as he is because of your influence.” Something flickers on Mycroft’s face now. Reading him correctly she adds, “I don’t mean that you’re cold or been made that way because of what’s happened in your family. I married you in spite of your relatives Mycroft Holmes, not _because_ of them and I'm assuming that you did the same with me.” 

 

“Don’t tell Sherlock that.” Mycroft’s eyes get a glow about them now and it’s the first time she’s heard him joking somewhat like his old self in an age. Before the past week there was the explosion. Its been a long time since they've felt like a proper unit.

 

“I'm just saying that families are complicated and the choices we make because of them even more so. If we’d had each other’s lives then God knows what either of us would have done. I know you’ve got a good heart despite what you did and let carry on and I forgive you. _Just”-_ she pulls a bit of a face-“Don’t keep anything like that from me ever again. I don’t think I can cope with it. I need you, the children do too, and more importantly than that I still love you. It still makes me smile when I see you interacting with the children. How you always make time for them and want to be with them whether that’s Christopher telling you a fact you’ve already heard from his latest sticker book or Sophie spitting up all down the back of one of your favourite suits when it’s late at night and you’re tired. You make me laugh much more than you’ve ever made me cry and Dad said that was important when I spoke to him this week.”

 

“Your father’s a very wise man.” Mycroft pushes himself closer now. 

 

 _“Mm.”_ She tackles his hand more firmly with her own, head looking over his shoulder. “I didn't tell him about Eurus”-Mycroft stiffens a little, but she thinks that they can start to build something better in a world where everything’s out in the open and slowly this sort of reaction will fade-“But he had a feeling that there was something wrong between us and he told me what he called his _‘best advice.’”_ She smiles a little at that. “He said, ‘Nic, if he makes you laugh more than he’s ever made you cry then he’s still the one for you.’ As cheesy as it sounds it’s true. You are.”

 

He kisses her now. “I feel the same way,” he mutters eagerly against her mouth. 

 

“I know.” She does and she pushes him off her now because it’s still going to take time for the consequences of what’s happened to sink in, but she knows that she’s definitely taken the right first step today and that reassures her all the same. She gets out of bed. 

 

*

 

That afternoon Nicola, Mycroft and the children, all wrapped up in their coats and Sophie toddling a little bit on the gravel as she takes her father’s hand, before he picks her up, swinging her against his side, go out of the house and around the back to the small area of green lawn. In time Nicola can see them having another dog, a puppy that will grow up alongside the children and accompany her to the schools too-everyone had been very upset to hear about Dash and the dresser in her bedroom is full of handmade cards from all the children, the largest one definitely by Clarice-but for now it’s time to say a proper goodbye to the old one. She tightens her hold on the urn, Christopher by her side and Mycroft and Sophie just behind. She steps in the centre and tilts her head up, feeling if there’s enough breeze. 

 

 _“Dashie,”_ Sophie says, still not used to the dog’s absence and wondering where her favourite thing to pull at and ride on is. She snatches out at something in the air instead. 

 

“Mummy’s holding Dash, Sophie,” Christopher tells her solemnly, twisting around from Nicola’s side to tell her, “He’s gone and we've got to say goodbye to him today.” 

 

Noting that Christopher sounds a little upset Nicola murmurs, “But we can always remember him.”

 

“Yes.” Christopher, eyes watery, nods, looking relieved. He’s got a photo of Dash in his bedroom and he’d like to remember him everyday. 

 

Nicola turns back, gently unscrewing the urn. Dash’s remains are grey and white. They don’t do anywhere near enough to represent all the colour that he’d brought into her life, but as she tips them gently into her hand and begins to let them be carried away in the breeze, whilst Sophie points and Christopher’s shoulders shake as he chokes up a little, Nicola swears that she sees the black and tan figure of Dash soaring out of the container and curving around, before he looks at her as if to ask where they’re going that day, eyes bright and alert, ears cocked, tongue lolling and tail ready to wag. 

 

Mycroft comes to put an arm around her shoulder. Christopher is now holding Sophie. Nicola realizes that she’s crying and though she tries to recover and wipe away her tears she stops doing so when she sees a silvery tear rolling down the side of Mycroft’s nose. “He loved you, you know? Even after what happened”-

 

“He would have been so angry with me for putting the children and you in danger,” Mycroft’s voice is ragged.

 

“Yes,” she agrees, chuckling a little in a watery fashion when she imagines Dash glaring at Mycroft in disgust and perhaps even growling at him, “But even so, and even though he didn't want us to be together in the first place, he knew deep down that you were worthy of me. He would have defended you. You're part of the pack.” 

 

Mycroft nods, smiling a little at her wording and the way that she still insists on trying to make everyone feel better. He wraps his arms around her. 

 

“Look Mummy!” Christopher says. “Look at that! It’s like Dash is smiling down at us.”

 

She looks at where her son is pointing, past the remains of her old friend and into the blue of the sky. A large white cloud looms above them and with light chinking through gaps of it Nicola thinks that Christopher’s right. She smiles. Mycroft lets go of her. Amongst the chattering of the children she turns to him, tangling their hands together, a smile blooming upon her face. “It’s Dash telling me that this is where I belong,” she says in barely more than a whisper. She kisses Mycroft now and when the children grow silent she breaks away from him and pulls their little family close. 

 

They stand together for a moment, before they troop back inside again and after they've all become free of their coats and got a little bit warmer with a drink in the kitchen Christopher asks, “Can you read us a story Mummy?” looking at Nicola imploringly from his place around the table. 

 

Hands still around her cup Nicola nods. “Why don’t you go and fetch us one?” 

 

Christopher looks unsure for a moment. Then he asks, “Can you tell us one of _your_ stories?” 

 

Nicola glances at Mycroft now. He seems to have no objections. On the contrary his eyes are twinkling, as if he believes that the timing could not be better. She smiles in spite of the fact that she knows he’s doing it a little selfishly in the hope that it will distract them all. “All right.” Getting up her fingertips touch at the top of Sophie’s head. Her daughter is in a little soft playpen, so that she can still be with them in the kitchen, but safely, especially when they’re having a warm drink. 

 

Nicola goes up to her study upstairs. The tray upon her desk and the desk itself are littered with papers. She smiles for a moment at the drawing she’s done of her character, who looks remarkably like she had at seven, and Kammy. She’d stuck it with blu-tack on the front of the tray. “I wonder what Christopher will think of you?” she whispers to the spotted green chameleon. It’s probably a trick of the light, but Kammy seems to wink at her, as if to say that of course she’ll be the most loved of all. Nicola laughs and scoops up the completed version of her latest story. She’d written it in the past week when she’d been trying to digest everything that had happened and deciding what to do next. It features an adult version of her character. 

 

She re-groups with the others downstairs. Sophie is being held by Mycroft now and babbles something upon his knee. Her husband watches her with sparkling eyes that are full of hope and he places a kiss on top of their daughter’s head as Nicola sits down once more. Christopher ignores the hot chocolate stain that is upon his face and leans forwards keenly, wanting to take in every word. Feeling like a proper author Nicola shuffles her papers and looks around at them all. “Are we ready?” she asks. That could be debatable in Sophie’s case-she seems very keen to grab onto Mycroft’s nose. 

 

“Mmmhmm,” Mycroft and Christopher chorus, Mycroft catching his tiny daughter’s hand with his own. 

 

“Then I’ll begin. Once upon a time…”


	11. Bonus Fairytale Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Nicola's story that she read at the end of chapter 10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever for your support. I will be posting some art that relates to this story over on dA. Over there I go by the name, 'freckleslikerain,' so I hope you check it out if you get a chance. :)

Once upon a time there was a princess. The princess who had pale skin, short, gingery blonde hair and blue-amber eyes lived alone on the outskirts of the kingdom in a long, thin tower. Although her parents, who lived in the heart of the kingdom, often visited they kept her there because they did not think she was yet ready to come and live in the main castle with them. Truth be told they struggled with their daughter. She wasn’t much of a talker and she seemed happier in fictional lands of her own creation than in the real one. The princess’s closest friend was Kammy the talking chameleon who had appeared by her singular window one day. In their world of make believe the princess and the chameleon were famous explorers, but in reality the princess was lonely. It wasn’t long before she hatched plans to escape from the tower. Where the first one failed the second was a success and she began to go on her own adventures. 

 

*

 

A blue-eyed, auburn haired prince in the neighbouring kingdom was being tested too. There was a great fire in the castle where he lived, which killed his sister. The most unfortunate thing was that the prince knew his sister had been responsible for the fire in the first place. She had been troubled for a while by that time and did not know how to act normally. The prince, shocked by the events, which had befallen his family, vowed to join an academy. In the academy he would learn to be a knight. He believed that, that way, although it wasn’t customary for members of the royal kingdom to have jobs that even commoners could do, he would be in a better place to protect his family should they ever need it. 

 

*

 

As she ventured into the next kingdom the princess was a little nervous. She hadn’t been doing too badly with the adventuring thing. She just had to make sure that she didn't get caught. She knew that her parents were searching for her. There were missing posters up everywhere and soldiers rattled in their armour as they went from place to place to look for her. She’d taken to wearing a brown hooded robe that covered her vivid hair up. Her parents had always been very fond of it, but she hadn’t liked it at all, especially since it made her stand out. Kammy, who thankfully her parents were not aware of for she’d always hidden and become invisible whenever they’d visited, rode upon her shoulder and the princess had found her useful for stealing food. With a sly wink her way Kammy would turn invisible and hang down towards the stall using her tiny tail like a rope, before she’d snatch whatever might be desired or deemed logical to try and get. They had been lucky enough not to get caught so far and the market traders had all been really friendly and helpful to them in the main. A fire breather had taught her how to conjure flames with her bare hands. A tradesman how to levitate and another how to fight with a sword. The princess was getting more and more confident and looked around this latest place of hustle and bustle eagerly. There were fairies with pink and white wings, which glinted in the light, elves that were grey-green and wrinkly and even a light brown giant or two visiting. Market traders all called out to the princess as she moved from side to side and pushed their wares close. The princess felt Kammy disappearing on her shoulder close to the fruit and vegetable stall and smiled. 

 

A moment later though a voice had asked, “Hey Madam, is this _your_ chameleon?” 

 

The princess had glanced over and frozen at the scene. Kammy was being hung from the man’s finger by her tail and the greedy little beast still reached for an apple. She never knew when to give up Nicola thought. Unfortunately the apple was a mix of red and green and that’s why the chameleon hadn’t been able to blend in properly. “I-er”-

 

 _“Move!”_ The princess heard a gruff voice that snuffled. “Come on move!” She looked down and saw that a very large black and tan dog with brown eyes nudged at her leg. Kammy managed to wriggle free and as soon as the princess felt the thud of her against her robe they’d all taken off. They’d ignored the shouts of the market trader, which came from behind them. 

 

They got to a quieter part of the cobbled street and gathered in the corner in the nook by the overhanging bridge. 

 

“Thank you.” The princess looked at the dog in astonishment. 

 

“ ‘S all right. They call me Dash. I do a bit of bodyguard work, but lost my employment recently to a younger, fitter model.” His ears had drooped then and the princess had felt quite sorry for him. _“Hey!”_ He’d perked up. “I don’t suppose you would let me guard _you_ would you? You don’t look like you’re from around here.” He’d sniffed at her robe a little suspiciously. 

 

She’d drawn it closer around her and taken a step back. “Erm”-

 

“Yeah I think you better move on bud. That spot’s not vacant,” Kammy had spoken from her position on the princess’s robe. 

 

 _“Oh.”_ The dog had looked downhearted. “Oh okay.” He’d begun to move away, his head had hung down low. 

 

“But since Kammy’s skills don’t always work we could use another bodyguard.” The princess had spun on the spot and looked after the dog. 

 

 _“Really?”_ He’d turned around again. 

 

“Yep.”

 

Dash had come back to them at once. His tail had wagged. 

 

“Oh brother.” Kammy had rolled her eyes, but hopped onto the dog’s back anyway. The princess had quirked an eyebrow up at her. _“Hey,”_ Kammy had protested, “If he’s coming with us then we might as well make full use of him.” The princess had rolled her eyes at that, but hadn’t said anything. Kammy was somewhat of a lost cause, so she’d looked around thoughtfully instead. 

 

“We better get going then since we didn't get any food where we were.” She’d looked down at her chameleon friend ruefully, but to her amazement instead of looking upset about it all Kammy had just looked smug instead and had pointed to one of the young woman’s pockets. The princess had felt inside it curiously and was astonished when her hand had closed around something circular. She’d pulled it out. “An _apple?”_ Kammy had given her a look as if to say not to ever doubt her again. The princess had decided that she wouldn't do so. “Well, this is big enough for us to share quite comfortably.” She’d been pleased. She’d separated the apple into three pieces. Kammy had taken her slice without a thank you. 

 

Dash had been far more pleasant. “Oh thank you, thank you Mistress.” He’d slurped it up hungrily. His tail had wagged again. 

 

The princess had smiled and was just about to tuck into her own slice when she’d faltered. There was someone watching them. A boy in the opposite corner. He had chestnut hair with flecks of grey, pale, ghostly blue eyes and he’d worn an attire that wouldn't look out of place on a servant-black trousers, a black and brown fluffy waistcoat that looked to be made out of some kind of animal hide and a white ruffled shirt. He’d stared at them all with intrigue and as the princess had taken note of the way that he’d seemed to have been recently crying because there were tracks through the grime on his face then she thought he could have done with the apple more than she could have. 

 

 _“Here.”_ She’d made her way over to him. Kammy had sighed. She’d known that she would have to steal more food since the princess was being so generous. She’d clung on though without much thought as Dash had loped after the young woman. The boy had blinked at the princess and pushed his back against the wall. “Don’t be afraid.” Slowly, and with more confidence, the boy had taken the piece of apple from her. The princess had sat down beside him. The boy had looked at her, noting the amber that swirled inside her blue eyes like the cake mixture that his mum used to make. “What’s going on with you then?” the princess had asked him. 

 

 _“Oh.”_ The boy had looked at the apple slice ruefully. “Well my-my Mum died. My sister too.”

 

“I'm sorry to hear that.” The boy had glanced at her then and seen how she really did look sad even though she didn't know him at all. 

 

“Yeah, s-so I-I don’t have a home to go to no more Miss and all the boys at school are really mean to me. Reckon they must be half-giant or somefing. Don’t go to school no more neither ‘cause of them.” He’d sniffed, his accent coming through more in his distress. 

 

“Boys can be really horrible like that.” It’s Dash who had spoken then. He’d lied down in front of the boy. “I wouldn't take any notice of them. They can probably just see how clever you are and they don’t much like it.”

 

“It’s hard to ignore them though.” The boy had looked interested in what the dog had to say. 

 

“Yeah, sometimes you really want to punch them huh?” Kammy had swung a little fist, before she’d landed sprawled on the dog’s back. 

 

With a roll of her eyes the princess had gotten the chameleon into an upright position again. “Would it make any difference if we stayed with you for tonight?” she’d asked him. 

 

“Well-actually,” the boy had looked hopeful, “I was going to try and get into the castle tonight, but you could always come along if you wanted to.”

 

“The _castle?_ Why do you want to get in there?” she’d asked.

 

“I heard the prince is training to be a knight at the academy and want to know if he could get me in there. I tried asking at the academy itself, but could only get past the first gate, before they threw me out. If I had a _prince_ vouching for me though-!” The young boy’s eyes had lit up. 

 

“Why’s it so important to you to get into the academy?” the princess was intrigued.

 

“Because that’s where all the heroes start their journey and I want to be a hero! I want to go on adventures and also”- the boy had looked a little guilty.

 

 _“Mmmhmm?”_ the princess had questioned him with a smile. She’d been able to relate to his words. 

 

“It’s nice and warm and stuff there, or so I be hearing anyway. I mean obviously the prince lives at the castle, but I could live at the academy and maybe even get a talking dog of my own.” He’d stroked at the dog then. His fingers had combed through his hair and the princess had smiled. 

 

*

 

“See? There’s a gap here,” the boy had pointed when the sky was navy and splashed with stars. They were around the side of the grey castle with its light green towers and many windows. 

 

“An air vent?” The princess had pulled a face, not knowing if she’d fit. 

 

“It’ll be fine,” the boy had said, which was easy for him to say considering that he was significantly shorter than the princess was. The princess might have been bony, but she’d thought that squeezing through an air vent would challenge even _that_ notion. “Although we better hurry,” the boy had added, “Because they have soldiers looking around the grounds every half an hour and at twenty past nine vines sprout up all over the place, so that no one can come and go until morning.” It had been quarter to nine at that point. 

 

“All right.” The princess had bent down and with some effort pulled the covering of the vent free. It had fallen to the ground with a grating crash and the princess and the boy had looked around them nervously. 

 

Kammy, who had taken on the appearance of the moon, hopped into the shaft first. Her glowing body had led the way. The boy had gone next. Then Dash and finally the princess who with a bit of difficulty had pulled the covering back behind them again. The levitation spell that she’d learnt off a trader in the market had helped a little. Thank goodness for it! 

 

They’d crawled uncomfortably for what had felt like hours on the poor princess’ knees, but in reality wasn’t even one. 

 

Finally the boy had whispered, “Come see!” and turned back to look through another air vent covering, whilst the princess had caught up with him. Squeezed up and with Kammy and Dash in between them the princess had let out a little breath when she’d looked into the room beyond. Cast in a blue shadow it seemed to be some sort of storage and training room. Just in front of them layed the torso of a mannequin clothed in a dark green scarlet jacket, ruffled shirt and black tie, its back to them on a pole. Racks of clothes layed on one side with swords in glass cases upon the wall or loose ones that were propped up on display. Light had glistened off the silver. A table had layed furthest of all off to the side. A cloth and some papers had been on it. The window beyond the clothes racks was what let all the eerie light in. The boy had let out a low whistle. “Blimey I need to see that stuff up close!” he’d said. 

 

Because it had seemed like his wish was her every command that night the princess had focused very hard and hovered the grille away from them into the air with her hands. Grinning the boy had allowed the animals out first, before he’d quickly followed suit. With a smile the princess had clambered out after him and slowly affixed the grille back into place once more. The boy already touched at some of the clothes, which were soft, heavy and luxurious, whilst Dash sniffed at them curiously and Kammy changed from purple to red as she’d slithered across the attire, enjoying herself immensely. Suddenly though they’d heard a rattle at the door and whilst Kammy had jumped down onto the dog’s back and become invisible the boy and dog had hid amongst one rack of clothes, the princess had gone behind the mannequin. She’d thrusted the hood of her robe up. 

 

They’d heard the sound of boots across the floor and a man who had mumbled to himself. To the princess his footsteps had sounded very loud indeed and her heart had thumped with the fright of being caught. They’d heard the sound of one of the glass cases as it was detached from the wall and then the metal sword had been released from it, before it was wiped down upon the table. 

 

“Better than them…I’ll be better than them.” The man had wiped the cloth against the sword. His tone had been almost a rumbling song that had risen up. He’d dropped the cloth back down onto the table again and turned. He’d wielded the sword in mid-air. The metal had wobbled and glinted in the moonlight. He’d adjusted his hold on the sword a couple more times, before he’d faced the mannequin. His boots had shifted against the wooden floorboards. As he’d steadied his balance and looked down at his boots the curious princess had peeped out from over the mannequin’s shoulder, her hands twisted up into its fabric. Her blue-amber eyes had locked onto the figure, the _man._ From that distance she’d been able to see how tall he was-the answer was very-his auburn hair, the fringe of which was pushed back a little, still blue eyes, which the light had rippled across as if they’d been water, thin determined lips and a long nose. He was neither thin nor fat and he wore a thin plum jacket with black swirls and a dark shirt, which had lace at the cuffs. His breeches were cream and knee high boots were brown and mysterious. Altogether he was rather handsome if a little dour looking. As the man had stopped moving again and looked her way the princess had ducked her head back again. She’d heard a quiver of metal and then was jerked back as the mannequin was pushed into her violently. 

 

The man’s brow had furrowed when the mannequin appeared to emit a shriek. “Who’s there?” He’d been aware that his weapon pointed out of the torso of the mannequin and had felt vulnerable and exposed. To his surprise however it was a woman who had slowly come into his view. Her hands raised in submission she’d been a pale creature with large blue-amber eyes and who’d worn a hooded brown robe that had covered up much of her gingery blonde hair. She had an angular face and body, though he had been hard pushed to see much of it between the robe and shadows. “How did you get in here?” He was not sure whether to be angry and frightened or not. He had not expected a woman. If anything he had expected his brother to have been playing a trick on him. 

 

“Please sir I beg you not to overreact. We do not wish any harm on you, your family or the castle. We simply came here tonight to ask you a question,” the princess had said.

 

 _“We?”_ The man’s thin eyebrows had done some sort of dance. The princess had found it all rather fascinating, but after she’d gotten herself together again she’d looked around. 

 

“Please, the rest of you, do come out.”

 

There had been much ominous shuffling of clothes and the princess had been able to tell that the man wished he had his sword from the way that his eyes had gone across the weaponry as if trying to judge a suitable replacement. Dash had come out first. 

 

“Mistress. Mistress.” He’d licked feverishly at her hand, before he’d looked at the man. “You will not harm Mistress.”

 

The man had mumbled something that had sounded suspiciously like- _‘If she does not harm me.’_ The princess had, had to smile at that.

 

Then the boy had stepped out, looked across to the man cautiously and gone straight to the princess’s side, as he’d trusted her. Kammy had finally become visible upon Dash’s back. The man had clutched at his heart in fright. 

 

“You’ll have to forgive Kammy,” the princess had told him apologetically, “She does so enjoy her tricks.”

 

“Yes, well, I’d still like to know how you all got in here.” The man had sniffed reprovingly. He’d wanted to deal with the gap in security at once. 

 

“Air vents,” the boy had said, just as shortly. The princess had placed a warning hand upon his shoulder. They were in a room full of weaponry after all. It would not do to make a false move there. 

 

“You came to ask me a question? I assume it’s a very important one,” the man tried to regain control. 

 

“You are the prince aren't you?” the princess had asked him curiously. 

 

 _“Yes.”_ The prince had looked defensive. Who else would he be? “I'm assuming that wasn’t your question?”

 

The princess had reddened at that. “No. We-well”- 

 

“I wanted to ask you sir if you could put in a good word for me at the academy?” The boy was on his best behaviour at that point. “You see I’d very much like to go there so I would and I heard that you were a student.” 

 

 _“Oh.”_ The prince had looked suddenly downhearted. The princess had felt curious about him. With slumped shoulders he’d gone across to the mannequin and tugged out his sword. It had come free with a couple of pulls and then he’d put it back into its case again after he’d swung it around carefully. He’d re-fastened the case against the wall, before he’d sat down on the floor with a thump. Slowly the others had all approached him. The princess had gotten the closest. “I'm not really sure if you want me to do that for you.” The prince had looked at them awkwardly. His lip had been twisted. The boy’s face had turned puzzled, but the princess had felt like she might have a better understanding. She’d sat down beside the prince and touched briefly at his arm. It had sent something rising through the both of them like a cloak, which fell off its owner. They’d looked at each other with pursed lips. The moment had been broken though when the boy had sat down on the prince’s other side. Dash and Kammy had taken residence on the other side of the princess. Dash had looked at the prince warily. “I'm not so great myself. I think the others were disappointed-a prince who’s no good at swordsmanship,” the prince had scoffed. 

 

“It takes practice,” the princess had been kind to him. She’d glanced at the state of the mannequin. _“Besides,_ if you’d only hit a little more to the left then you would have been dead on target.”

 

“Most good of you to say so.” The prince had smiled ruefully at her. “Who- _ah,_ who am I having the pleasure of addressing?” His face had been inches away from hers. 

 

Thrown by the question and what answer she should give the princess had looked away from him. Her hands had fidgeted upon her knees. Curious the prince had found her chin with the tips of his fingers and slowly drawn her face back around to him. The hood had fallen off the princess’ hair. 

 

The prince’s eyes had widened. “You are the missing princess.” He’d let go of her at once. Her identity changed things. The boy too had looked in awe that he’d run around with a princess for part of the day. 

 

 _“Yes,”_ she’d whispered with some considerable dignity, before she’d added with less of such a thing, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

 

The prince had looked worried. “Your parents are concerned. My own father and mother have practically been bombarded by correspondence from your mother.” 

 

“Yes, but she doesn’t understand. Neither of them do,” the princess had explained, “They think the world poses too many dangers for me. That I’m delicate”-

 

“You don’t _look_ delicate”-the prince had scratched at his nose a little embarrassedly-“But you’re still beautiful of course.” He’d looked quickly away again. 

 

“Thank you.” The princess had grown red. The prince himself had looked very flushed and the boy had sniggered. Dash had grumbled at that. He’d been teaching himself to read lately, not an easy thing for a dog to do, and he’d thought that he wouldn't bother much with romances. “It’s just that they keep me in a tower all by myself. I had to escape. I couldn't just spend my day reading about adventures. I had to have one too.” 

 

The boy’s eyes had lit up at that point. “I think I might have an idea,” he’d said. The pair of them had looked at him. “What if I helped you get better at being a knight?” The prince had looked doubtful. “I'm really good. I’ve read all the stories. I know exactly how a knight is supposed to behave,” the boy had protested. He’d puffed the little of his chest out. 

 

“He did get us in here,” the princess had acknowledged. 

 

Eyebrow raised the prince had looked back at the boy. “In return for what?” he’d asked. 

 

“In return for you putting in a good word for me at the academy.” The boy had smiled winningly. He’d known what he’d wanted all right. 

 

The prince had sighed at that point. “I suppose it can’t hurt.” He’d looked at the princess. “And you? Will _you_ be coming here too if I tell this boy to meet me here every evening?”

 

The princess had thought about it for a moment. She’d known that if she said yes it would mean saying goodbye to her more temporary travels. Agreeing to go there every night though with the prince and the boy appealed to her, especially when she’d never had a day as fun as the one she just had. “Oh I should think so.” The prince had smiled. 

 

*

 

Each evening they met. The prince and the boy had been startled to find that the princess knew more about wielding a sword than either of them did and she’d found herself helping them more than they’d been able to help one another. Once they’d gotten more into the swing of things though _-literally!-_ she’d let them go clanging about as they’d practiced duelling one another, whilst she’d read. She didn't much like the noise of it all-it was grating and loud-and since the prince had started bringing her books that he’d thought she might enjoy or find interesting in a very earnest fashion from his private library it made sense to make the most of them. 

 

In a break from reading one night however she’d set her book down and stared at her hands. There’d been a reference to a fire in the book and it had made her want to test out her skills and see if she could still do them. Much to her relief it hadn’t been long before flames had burnt bright there. 

 

The prince, who had noticed the sudden blaze of light at once out of the corner of his eye had startled at the fact. He’d dropped his sword and staggered back. “Stop that at once!” She’d looked up at him and felt stunned by his reaction. The boy too looked a little shocked. Kammy and Dash both watched the scene. “I said put that out at once!”

 

“I’m _sorry.”_ She’d looked back at her hands then and been about to make the fire dim into ashes, but then, instead of doing what she wanted it to the fire had leapt up. 

 

“I said stop it! Have you gone mad?” the prince was quite beside himself. 

 

“I’m trying to!” She’d looked up at him desperately and then back at the flames again. There were three of them there now and each one tried to stretch up higher than the other. She didn't know what to do. 

 

A sudden cackling sound caught their attention. It seemed to come from within the clothes rack _and,_ whilst the boy went to the princess’s side along with the animals the prince remained where he was, eyes terribly transfixed on the clothes that rustled. Slowly a ghostly presence was conjured into the air in front of the garments. Neither the princess or the boy or either of the animals recognized the girl, but the prince did. It was his young sister. The same one who had been killed in the fire all that time ago. Her blue eyes looked luminous. Her dark hair was up in a schoolgirl design. That terrible smile filled her lips. 

 

“Hello brother dear.”

 

The prince knew in that moment, as the princess shrieked and struggled with the fire that exploded upwards from her hands and then fell down again in the next that his sister was the one who controlled it. That she wouldn't hesitate to set them all aflame and kill every last being in the castle, just as she had wreaked so much havoc on them all before. But the prince was older now and he wasn’t about to let that happen again. With a courage that he rarely felt he’d picked up his sword. The boy had watched with an open mouth as the prince had readied himself. He’d brandished the weapon as his boots had shifted upon the floor. 

 

The princess again understood something that the other two did not. “Look at her,” she’d breathed, “Whoever she is to you”-she’d looked at the prince then who had looked back at her uncertainly-“She is not really there is she? You can see everything that’s behind her she’s so blue and transparent.” It was true the prince saw. The blue came from the ghostly light that spilled into this room as it always did from the outside at this time of night and he could see the clothes and railing through his sister. But he wasn’t sure. He just wasn’t sure. His grip tightened upon his sword. Whatever was going on here he could not let his guard down. “She’s not there,” the princess whispered. But the prince looked at her and saw the fire upon her hands and his mind was back in the castle several years ago as he’d struggled to breathe and locate his brother in the flames. He turned to face the princess instead. Her face flickered between being that of her own and his sister. He raised his sword, whilst the princess cowed and braced herself. She did not want to have to cover him with the fire, to hurt him at all, but if he attacked her then-

 

“She’s not there,” the boy said and the pair turned towards him instead just as the prince’s sister possessed his voice. “Oh I am. I am here and I will never leave. I will be staying and every time you come into this room you _will_ play with me.” The boy fell to his knees. 

 

“Let go of him!” the princess shrieked. 

 

The evil spirit drew back from the boy and stared at the prince who wasted no time in driving his sword through her. The spirit squealed even though in reality she could not feel a thing and just as the fire fell into a pile of ash upon the princess’ hands the same happened to the sister upon the floor. 

 

Face sweaty the prince looked at the princess. His mouth panted as he lowered his weapon and she saw that his hair had been blown back because of all the activity. The boy wheezed upon the floor, scared, but alive. 

 

*

 

It was one evening after that where it had long since been explained by the prince to them all about how the spirit had been his sister and how she had died in a fire when the prince and the boy were practicing yet again as the princess read. 

 

After a particular energetic bout the prince had flopped down beside her and startled the princess out of her book. 

 

“Sorry,” he’d apologized.

 

“Hm not bad. You’re best at defence, but you still need to go for the attack more.” She’d smiled at the way that he’d propped himself up on his elbows. His tongue had poked out and his eyes had shone with exertion. She liked how after the defeat of the spirit he seemed lighter and less heavy with everything. Though he still seemed reluctant to fight unless he really had to. 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be reading?” He’d smiled at her. 

 

“Well, it wouldn't be very professional of me to take my eye of a student.” She’d grinned back at him. 

 

His lopsided smile had just grown. 

 

“Eurgh, they’re flirting again,” the boy had complained to Kammy and Dash. The three of them had taken refuge in the corner to watch the pair. 

 

“I know. It’s exhausting,” Dash’s voice had rumbled. “I expected Mistress to have better taste?” He’d looked at the chameleon enquiringly. She’d shaken her head sadly. 

 

“I was wondering-?” The prince had sat up then and the princess had found herself reddening at having his eyes so intently on hers. 

 

 _“Yes?”_

 

“Whether it would really be so bad if people knew where you were”-the princess had opened her mouth in objection-“No,” the prince was quick to add. He’d raised his hands. They were calloused from all of his hard work of late. “I mean if it were for a good reason and if the reason meant that you wouldn't ever have to return to your tower again…” 

 

“I'm listening.” The princess had been curious. 

 

 _“Well”-_ the prince had swallowed-“Considering our backgrounds with”-

 

“You being a prince, me a princess?” 

 

“Yes.” The prince had flushed. “If we were to announce that um”-

 

Delighted as she’d guessed as his meaning she’d teased, “Definitely going to make you say it,” and kissed at his cheek. Crimson tendrils had emerged all over his skin from the place where she’d touched it like a lily that bloomed. 

 

Something had pooled low in the prince’s stomach. “If I were to ask you to marry me for example then I can’t see there being protest enough for you to have to go back and live in your tower.”

 

“That would depend on whether you asked me, but I have to say that I’d agree,” she’d said.

 

“To which bit?” The prince had looked frustrated. 

 

 _“Both.”_ The princess had kissed the prince, using the open book to shield them, so that they could have their privacy and not embarrass the boy and animals at the same time.

 

*

 

The prince and the princess got married and became a fine King and Queen together. The boy not only got to go to the academy, but also had the run of the castle and became Head Guard. He protected the drawbridge when he grew up. Kammy had fun as she developed her changes of colour even further; adding the crown jewels to her repertoire and Dash became the Queen’s most faithful guard. In fact they all lived _happily_ ever after.


End file.
